Retribution
by Marla Fair
Summary: When the men of Walnut Grove marched the Galender brothers out of town they thought the bully boys were gone for good. One day the Reverend Alden comes knocking on the Ingalls' door to tell them otherwise - the Galenders brother have not forgotten or forgiven. They blame Charles for all their woes and it is their intention to make him pay.
1. Chapter 1

Retribution

A knock on the front door of the house brought Caroline Ingalls' head up from her sewing. She laid the shift she was mending down on the hearth and rose and went to answer it. It was early Saturday afternoon, not the usual time for callers. The girls were at the Edwards. Charles was working extra at Hansen's Mill. They had a big order to fill and he'd told her he would be late. She hadn't argued since, as usual, they needed the money. Every now and then she would sit and wonder what it would be like to have extra money, not enough, but _more_ than enough. Why, the dresses she would buy for her girls, and the presents! Laura and Carrie would have one of those fancy china dolls each from the catalog, and she'd buy Mary the most beautiful hat and coat. And Charles? Maybe a brand new fiddle made in France! It was sin, of course, to think that way. The Reverend Robert Alden would be the first one to tell her that, though she didn't need him too. She knew it well enough herself. She might not have extra money, but she had the things money _couldn't_ buy – beautiful, loving, caring children and a fine, strong protector and provider in Charles.

She loved them all so.

Caroline placed a hand on the latch and called out, "Who's there?"

"It's the Reverend Alden, Caroline. May I come in?"

She smiled as she turned the key and went to lift the latch. When she was alone, Charles wanted her to lock the door. While she thought it was a little silly – after all, what was there in Walnut Grove to fear? – at the same time it made her feel even more deeply loved.

' _I don't know what I'd do if something happened to you,_ ' Charles had told her just that morning as he went off to work at the mill.

She felt the same about him.

Realizing she was still standing there, holding onto the latch, Caroline replied, "Of course. Just a second."

When the door opened, the reverend doffed his hat and asked, "Is everything all right?"

Caroline shrugged. "I don't know what's wrong with me today, Reverend. I can't keep my head about me. My mind was wandering – "

"Like a lost sheep?"

She smiled and nodded. "It's a good thing I have a Heavenly shepherd watching out for me."

"As well as your _earthly_ shepherd."

She knew he meant Charles. "I'm very blessed," she said with a shy smile. As he stepped in the door, she remarked, "There. See! I'm forgetting my manners too! Would you like some tea? Or maybe some coffee? I can put on a pot."

"Some tea would be lovely."

"Why don't you take a seat at the table and I'll put the water on."

A few minutes later the water was heated and the tea was steeping in the pot. Caroline sat down at the opposite end of the table from the reverend. She'd brought over some bread and jam as well. As she spread the preserved fruit on the piece she had chosen, she asked, "So what brings you to our place?"

The older man drew a deep breath. "The Galenders."

Caroline almost dropped the knife. Her hands began to shake. "The Galenders?"

"I'm sorry," he said, laying his bread on the plate she had provided. "I shouldn't have mentioned it. I need to speak to Charles first, it's just that...well..."

She understood immediately. The minister was worried about her husband's quick temper. "You're afraid Charles might do something rash."

He nodded.

She waited, but when he wasn't forthcoming, asked, "What have they done? The Galenders?"

"It's not so much what they've done, but what they've _threatened_ to do." He looked at her and then shook his head. "No, no. I should speak with Charles about this first. Since it's Saturday, I'd hoped you would both be here and that maybe your presence would temper his reaction. I remember now Charles is at the mill, isn't he?" When she nodded 'yes', he rose to go. "I'll be on my way then."

"You haven't had your tea," she said, hoping she could persuade him both to stay and to tell her whatever news it was he had. "Or your bread."

The older man pursed his lips. "I seem to have lost my appetite. I'll just take the bread with me for later, if that's all right."

"I'll put the tea in something too. You can bring it back later."

"Thank you." The reverend paused and then added, "I'm sorry, Caroline, for needlessly upsetting you. I'll speak to Charles and then I'm sure he will fill you in." As he reached the door, he stopped and looked back. "Please don't worry. It may be nothing more than rumor."

She stood out front of the house, watching as the reverend's buggy diminished in size and then vanished into the distance, wondering what it was that the minister was afraid Charles would overreact to, and that he felt he couldn't tell her. _'Something they've threatened to do'_ , he'd said. Caroline wrapped her arms around her midriff. She couldn't think of anything that had frightened her as much as the encounter she had with the Galender brothers and what they had done to Charles because of it. Like the reverend, she liked to believe there was good in all men, but that belief had been challenged by the Galenders who had come into Walnut Grove with the intent of lying, cheating, and stealing to get what they wanted – and not caring who they hurt in the doing of it.

Caroline shivered. She'd never forget what Charles looked like when Isaiah brought him into the house after he'd gone off to confront them for laying their hands on her. The beating had been severe – _so_ severe she asked Doctor Baker about it and pressed him when he hesitated. He had hemmed and hawed, but finally admitted that something other than fists had to have been used to inflict that much damage. Most likely, a wrist-thick branch.

They could have killed him!

She had thought with the Galenders leaving Walnut Grove that they were gone from their lives, but it seemed now that might have been wishful thinking. Whatever it was the reverend knew, she hoped it was – as he said – only rumor. Rumors often had lives of their own and died when exposed to the truth.

The Good Lord willing, this was one of those times.

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Mary Ingalls sat underneath a tree with her back up against its scratchy bark trying to read a book – 'trying' being the working word. She lowered her glasses and looked across the yard to where her sisters and Alicia Edwards were playing and sighed. Though she'd never been one to run and shout and play as much as her sister, since she'd gotten engaged to John Junior, her mind had begun to turn on more serious things. In a year and a half... She paused and drew a deep breath. In a year and a half she would be married and moving into a home of her own, with her own...husband. _A year and a half._ Why, a year and a half ago she'd been only twelve and while, as her ma put it, she'd always been a studious child, if the play had been something she liked – say, blind man's bluff or a race – she'd have been out there carrying on like the rest of them.

She guessed, in that way, she was like her ma who had been a school teacher at a young age. She wanted to be a teacher too and both of her parents were proud of her for how far she had come in school – like that time she almost took first prize in mathematics at State. Her pa was especially proud as he'd told her often that he and schooling didn't get on. Pa was a smart man. Smarter than her, she thought, since he had the knowledge it took to do everything to keep her, her sisters and her ma well fed, safe, and secure.

Mary looked at the book she held. It was one John Junior had given her and contained the writings of several different famous men. She loved John with all her heart, but he wasn't a man like Pa. John didn't know much about mending a fence, or plowing a field, and he just plain and simple wouldn't hunt. He'd never be able to provide for her like Pa, not in the country at least. Which meant, when she married him, the most likely chance was that they would move away from Walnut Grove to a city and she might never see her parents and sisters again.

Her Ma had told her that marrying – for a woman – was putting your life in the hands of the man you loved. She'd said too that God had planned it that way, that a woman leave her home and go with the man to build a home of her own, to have children, and to bring them up in the Lord's way to His glory and service. It was what Ma'd done with Pa – put her life in his hands and never looked back.

Mary frowned. She looked at Laura who was whooping and giggling in the grass. She'd just taken a spill off of the old log they'd been climbing on and fallen flat on her back. Mary felt a tickle coax a smile from her lips. She looked at the book in her lap with everything that it represented and then put it aside, jumped up, and ran toward that log.

She was going to treasure every minute she had left.

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"Charles?"

Charles Ingalls looked down from his perch on the mill's broken wheel to find the Reverend Alden looking up at him.

"Morning, Reverend," he said, lifting his hat. The sun was full out today and, even though it was autumn, the temperatures were climbing. He'd put his hat on his head to keep the sun out of his eyes, but all it seemed to be doing was collecting sweat. As he wiped his sleeve over his brow, he asked, "What can I do for you?"

"I'd like to talk to you, Charles."

He frowned. "Can it wait? Lars needs the wheel working as soon as possible."

"Yes, I know you have a large order to fill. I talked to Lars. He said it was all right for you to take a break."

Charles' frown deepened. He put his tools aside and then climbed down off of the wheel. He was covered in grease, dirt, and a healthy coating of sweat. As he held out his hand for the reverend to shake, he said with a smile, "Sorry I'm not in my Sunday best."

"The Good Lord made men to sweat and work hard, Charles. There's no disgrace in it."

He nodded. "Thank you, Reverend. Now what is it you wanted to talk about?"

The older man looked around. Spying a nearby pile of lumber, he nodded toward it. "Shall we take a minute to sit down? Thanks to you lovely wife, I have some nice tea and can break a piece of bread with you."

"You were out to see Caroline?" he asked, growing even more curious as to the purpose of this meeting.

"I had forgotten you were working today. I..." He paused. "Let's sit down."

Charles grabbed a cloth and wiped as much grease as he could from his hands. As he tossed it down, he glanced at the office window and was surprised to find Lars Hansen standing in it, looking out – at him. When Lars saw that he saw him, the older man smiled a tight smile and then disappeared.

What was this all about?

When he came to the wood pile, the brown-haired man perched on the edge of one of the wide boards that made up the pile and looked at the reverend. The older man was pouring tea into a pair of tin cups before him. The reverend looked up when he realized he had arrived.

"I borrowed these from Lars, so remind me to give them back," he said as he offered the drink.

Charles accepted it gratefully and took a sip. "Reverend," he started without preamble, "I can tell whatever you've got to say is troublin' you. I'd ask you to come out with it."

The reverend looked directly at him. "Charles, I'm always the first one to say that the Lord works in mysterious ways, but I can tell you, this time, I am plain perplexed as to His purpose."

"Reverend..."

"There's been a threat made against you and your family."

Charles blinked. "What?"

"Someone intends you harm, Charles – you _and_ yours."

"I don't..." He glanced back at the Mill, understanding now why Lars had given him time off. Turning back to the Reverend, he asked, "Who?"

Robert Alden sighed deeply. "The Galender Brothers."

"The...the _Galenders?"_

"Yes, Charles, we may have driven them out of our community, but we didn't drive the Devil out of _them_."

Charles was still reeling. The Galender brothers – George, Sam, and their little brother Bubba – had come into their town as new neighbors and friends and set about bilking every business owner they could as well as taking advantage of the kind and generous people who populated Walnut Grove. It didn't take long for them to reveal themselves to be brutes and bullies and more.

If Caroline hadn't got away...

"Now, Charles," the reverend cautioned, sensing his growing ire, "we need to proceed slowly. All I have is a story communicated by a dear friend whom I trust. There is no proof." Alden paused. "I repeat, there is _no proof_ of what I am about to say. In fact, the very nature of how my friend came to this information makes it suspect."

Charles drew a long breath and let it out slowly. "And how is _that_ , Reverend?"

It was a long and winding story that started in a saloon and ended in a jail just outside of Sleepy Eye, which was apparently where the Galenders had landed after being thrown out of Walnut Grove. A parishioner belonging to the congregation of Robert Alden's friend – a minister named Lavey – had ended up in jail after being involved in a brawl. The sheriff sent word to the Reverend Lavey that the man wanted to talk to him and make a confession. Lavey arrived at the jail near midnight and went immediately into the cell to speak to him. The tale the prisoner told had disturbed him so deeply that he sent a wire the next day to Walnut Grove requesting that Alden come halfway to Sleepy Eye to meet with him.

"I can tell you, Charles, I was as unprepared for the tale John had to relate to me as you were for this news today."

Charles' growing anger had been quashed by a rising, ever-deepening sense of alarm. He was nearly breathless. "Reverend, _please."_

Robert Alden had a way of thinking and speaking deliberately, as if each word held its own great quantity of weight. Charles supposed it had to do with studying and preaching the Bible. He'd heard whole sermons ride on the back of two words. The minister paused before beginning again.

"I'm sorry, Charles. I don't want to misspeak on a matter of this importance. It is against my beliefs to bear false witness."

Charles impatiently nodded his understanding.

"John and I met in the home of a man of his acquaintance who went out to do his farm work so we could speak privately. The story he told was harrowing. This man – the one who ended up in jail for getting drunk and starting a brawl – had been approached in the saloon by the oldest of the Galender brothers. He said he'd heard of his reputation and wanted to hire him to do a job for them." The older man's eyes held his. "Charles, the man was a hired killer."

He felt the color drain from his face.

"The man told John that George Galender hired him to set fire to a house on the eastern outskirts of Walnut Grove. A house belonging to a man named Ingalls." He paused to let that sink in before continuing. " _Your_ house, Charles."

Sensing there was more, he asked – over a swallow – "And?"

"This next part is what brought the man to confess his sin." The reverend's hand went to his shoulder. "George Galender told him he would be paid on the condition that the house be occupied when the fire was started and..." He drew a breath. "At least one of the women was to be inside."

Alarm and rage collided, propelling him to his feet. "I'll kill him! God help me! I will break him with my bare hands!"

"Charles, now see, _this_ is why I wanted Caroline's soft wisdom along when I told you. Killing any of the Galenders will only land _you_ in jail and leave your family bereft and destitute! Not to mention what it would take for you to atone to your Heavenly Father."

"Where was my Heavenly Father when this was being plotted, Reverend? When one of _His_ creatures was making plans to kill my wife and daughters!" Tears had entered his eyes and he was shaking. "You tell me that!

"I'll tell you where He was," the Reverend Alden said, his voice even, "He was with that man who ended up in the jail, whose eternal soul could not bear the burden of guilt laid upon it by taking the Galenders offer to be paid for murder. Charles, God was with my friend who sent the telegram. You have not been _abandoned_. You _or_ your family!"

He stood there at war with himself. There was a part of him – the protector of his wife and children – that wanted to get on a horse and ride to Sleepy Eye and track down the Galenders and beat them to within an inch of their lives for even thinking of such a thing! But there was another side – the side of the provider – that only wanted to draw his family into his arms and make certain they were safe.

"Charles?"

He lifted a tear-streaked face and looked at the minister.

"Robert," he said softly, "help me..."

Without saying a word, the Reverend Alden placed a hand on his shoulder and pressed him down toward the ground. Charles didn't fight it as the older man dropped to his knees beside him and there, in the middle of the street, in the course of a busy afternoon, with dozens of wide-eyed passersby stopping to stare, they prayed for the deliverance of his family from evil.

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Isaiah Edwards was a happy man. The sun was shinin', the days were growin' longer, God was in His Heaven – where He oughta be – and his wheat crop was full and right near ripe. Though his heart lay in the things of the mountain – in shootin', and trappin' and huntin' – this farmer's life was all right. It let a man put down roots – he looked down at his feet, at the yellow plants crowdin' out his mule ear boots – sometimes literally! Shaking his leg, the mountain man freed his feet and then began to walk through the endless rows of grain. Doing so always brought his friend Charles to mind. Charles, the born farmer. Why, if Charles weren't farmin', he was frettin' about farmin', and if he wasn't frettin' about it, he was sure enough plannin' to. Isaiah laughed. Grace said Charles was an _uncomplicated_ man – intimatin', of course, that _he_ was on the wrong end of the horse. When he'd asked her once what it meant to be 'complicated', she'd gotten that there dictionary out with its millions of tiny little words and shown him. According to Daniel Webster – whoever he was and _why_ -ever he was someone everybody listened to – a man who was 'complicated' was ' _hard to understand, explain, or deal with._ '

That had made him raise an eyebrow – well, _both_ of 'em really had shot up toward his grizzled salt and pepper hair. "I ain't complicated," he declared.

"Of course not," Grace said.

And laughed.

As he approached the house, he saw the children playing out in the side yard. It did his heart a good turn to see how close Alicia and Carl had grown to Charles' girls. The five of them were running and whooping like a band of Indians on the warpath to the side of the house. Grace was hanging wash out on the line. The first thing he noticed was her tidy trim waist – just right for a man to put two hands around, squeeze tight, and pick up and twirl.

Catchin' the children's eye, Isaiah raised a finger to his lips. They all stopped to look. He shook his head and made a circular motion with his hand, indicatin' they should keep playin' so's Grace would be none the wiser. She was bent over now, facing the opposite direction, reaching for one of them there funny things she wore under her clothes – completely unsuspecting. Opening his arms and then spreading his fingers wide, he wiggled them, making the children giggle. Grace caught a lock of her hair that was blowin' in the wind and pulled it back behind her ear as she turned toward them.

It was his signal to go in for the kill.

"Isaiah Edwards!" came her more than fitting shout as his big hands closed around her small waist. "Whatever do you think you're doing?"

"Cain't a man cozy up to his wife on his day off?" he asked as he lifted her off her feet. "I thought maybe you and me'd go inside..."

"Isaiah!" Grace's eyes were wide. Her words came out in a short, kinda testy whisper. "What will the children think?"

"That you're the most _be-a-u-tiful_ woman in all of Walnut Grove, and the luckiest!" He twirled her in a tight circle. "'Cause you got me!"

Laura was giggling and jumping up and down, holding hands with Carrie who was doin' the same. Mary had that tight little smile, the one that showed she was laughing inside but was too _goldarned_ growed up to let it out. Carl and Alicia, well, they was bustin' a gut.

"Isaiah! Put me down!"

"All right, woman," he said, starting to lower her. Then he whirled with her again. "After we finish this dance." And with that he began to sing 'Old Dan Tucker' and waltz about the yard with her. He'd just put Grace down – glowin', laughin', her dark blonde hair blowin' in the breeze and lookin' beautiful – when Mary, Laura and Carrie lit up like a Jack O'Lantern on All Hallows Eve.

Laura was the first to say it. "Pa!"

They was like a tidal wave, those girls. Charles didn't stand a chance.

He watched the three of them strike their pa like a ball hittin' nine pins. The brown-haired man pretended to be surprised as he fell before their assault and the four of them hit the grass, laughin'.

Well, the girls were laughin'. Charles was tryin' to. His friend had one of those laughs that made the world take notice and remember, for just a minute, that joy was just around the corner and you could catch it if you moved fast enough.

That weren't the laugh he was laughin' now.

Isaiah walked over and peeled the first layer off, puttin' his hands around Carrie's little waist and holdin' her in the air kickin' and squealin' like a little piggy.

"Whoa, there. Whoa! Give your Pa time to come up for air," he laughed.

Charles disentangled himself from the eight remaining limbs and rose to his feet. As Mary and Laura wrapped their arms around him and squeezed him tight, he did that funny little thing with his mouth. It weren't quite pursing his lips, but it was somethin' like it, only his lips turned up instead of down like most folks.

"Isaiah," he said with a nod.

"Did you come to take us home, Pa?" Laura asked, looking up at him like he was the best present she could ever have.

Charles laid his hand on her head. "Not yet, Half-pint." He looked his way. "I came to talk to Mister Edwards. You go on and play a while longer."

"Thank you, Pa!" the little squirt shouted, huggin' him again.

As he watched, Charles pulled her close and hugged her tight in return, wrappin' his arms around her and pullin' her in against him.

There was somethin' desperate about it.

Grace was standing by his side. He gave her that _look_ and said, "Didn't you say you'd made some milk and cookies for this brood? I'm thinkin' it's time this here gaggle of gigglin' girls got their treat! Carl too," he added, grinning at his son.

His wife was looking at Charles. She hadn't missed it. "Certainly, Isaiah." Grace caught her skirts in her fingers and headed for the house. "Come on now."

She didn't have to ask twice.

"Pa?" Mary asked for all of them.

Charles nodded as he released Laura. "You go ahead. Have fun. I'll see you both 'bout supper time."

"Thank you, Pa!" Mary and Laura chimed in chorus and then, catching Carrie by the hand on either side, lifted her up and swung their little sister between them as they followed Alicia, Carl, and Grace to the house.

Isaiah watched Charles watch them go. There was something in the set of his friend's shoulders – they was slightly rounded, as though he had the weight of the world perched on them and it were almost more than he could bear.

The mountain man hesitated a moment and then asked, "Charles, what's wrong?"

The eyes his friend turned on him were haunted. Charles said nothing for several heartbeats and then suggested, "Let's take a walk."

When the brown-haired man said nothin' more, he nodded. "Sure. Where you want to walk to?"

Charles eyes went right to the field of ripening grain. "How about through the wheat?"

"Just checked it out, but don't mind doin' it again."

"Good."

His friend held his gaze for a moment and then began to walk. Isaiah followed. They walked for nigh onto five minutes before Charles stopped. When he did, he turned to look at him. "I...I wanted to be away from the house. I don't want the girls to hear."

"There ain't nothin' wrong with Caroline, is there?" Isaiah asked, sensing whatever it was that troubled his friend was a hard thing to talk about.

"Caroline's fine." Charles paused. "For now. That's what I wanted to talk to you about. I need to ask you a favor – a big one."

It were like pullin' hen's teeth for him – askin' for somethin'. "Ask away, friend."

Charles hesitated and then said, his voice pitched low. "I need you to take in Caroline and the girls for a few days. Maybe longer." He paused again, and then went on. "I'll bring enough food for them, so as not to put you out – "

"Charles, that ain't necessary."

"Yes, it is!" he snapped, and then instantly thought better of it. "I won't be accepting charity. We'll pay our own way. I just need a safe place for the family to stay until I can handle a matter that's come up."

"Safe?" He knew his friend. It was a hard row to hoe to get Charles to admit he needed help. The fact that he was askin' for Caroline and the girls to stay with them said a lot towards whatever was wrong. "Charles, what's this about?"

The brown-haired man was lookin' away, toward the horizon. He turned and faced him. In Charles' green eyes was a mix of frettin' and fear. He might almost have called it panic.

"Isaiah, I need you to...trust me on this for now. I don't know anything for certain and it could be I'm blowin' in the wind. I need to make sure, and I need to be on my own to do it."

Isaiah knew how to read that. "You're goin' it alone, whatever 'it' is."

"I'm not even sure if there is an 'it'. I need to find out and I have to go out of town to do so." He looked at him, his eyes pleadin' for understandin'. "All I can tell you is that Caroline and the girls may be in danger and I _need_ to know they're somewhere safe." He paused. "You're the first person I thought of. I know how much the girls...mean to you."

"Charles, what is this?" He paused. "I need to know what I'm guardin' against to do it right."

His friend's shoulders rose and fell in a sigh. He thought a moment longer and then said, "All right. It's the Galenders."

Isaiah frowned. "The Galenders? You mean that riffraff what we drove off from Walnut Grove with their tails between their legs a few months back?"

Charles nodded. "I have it from a reliable source that they've threatened my family."

"Good God, Charles! Why didn't you say so. I'll pack up a horse and kit and –"

"Isaiah, _no_. A man needs to be with them as much as possible. I..." His friend met his eyes. There were unspent tears in Charles'. "My only regret is that by taking Caroline and the girls in you may be bringing the Galenders' wrath down on your family as well."

"I can handle myself with that kind of vermin," he replied.

A slight smile crinkled the ends of Charles' eyes. "I know. That's the reason I asked."

Isaiah's gaze went to the house where the children were enjoying their milk and cookies, happily unaware of any trouble. "Are you gonna tell them?" he asked, nodding toward it.

"No. There's nothing they can do. It will only frighten them."

"What about Grace?"

Charles actually smiled. "Tell her. She'll figure it out anyway."

The mountain man nodded his agreement. "What about Caroline?"

"I have to go back to Hansen's and finish a few things. I'd appreciate it if you would walk the girls home in an hour or so, so they can get to their chores." He paused. "I'll tell Caroline about this tonight once they're in bed. If it works, you can bring them with you after service."

"All right."

Charles reached out to put a hand on his shoulder. "Thank you, Isaiah. You're a _true_ friend."

As the brown-haired man started to pull away, he said, "Charles, I got one more thing to ask you."

His friend looked back. "What?"

"Truth now."

He stepped closer. "Truth."

"Are _you_ in danger?"

Charles met his concerned gaze, his own weary and wary.

"Isaiah, I just don't know."


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

"Is something wrong, Ma?"

Caroline turned to look at Mary who was helping her set the table for supper. She'd gone to put the milk pitcher down lightly, but her hands were shaking so much that it ended up falling the last inch and coming down on the tabletop with a decided _thud._

"It's nothing, Mary," she replied. "It was just heavier than I expected."

Her daughter continued to stare at her for a moment as if unconvinced, and then seemed to accept her statement.

God, of course, wouldn't, because it was a lie.

Ever since the Reverend Alden had made his appearance she had tried and tried to forget the few words he said. Tried _and_ failed. Just the word 'threat' carried with it all kinds of sinister connotations. Had the Galenders threatened to come back and finish what they'd begun with Charles? Did they blame him for the fact that they were run out of town? The Reverend Alden had made it clear that day in church that _one_ man had stood up to their bullying and that was what had given the others the strength and courage to do the same.

The Galenders had to know that man was Charles.

Caroline let out a long heartfelt sigh. Mary didn't miss it. She stopped what she was doing and looked at her, but didn't say a thing.

At that moment she heard the sound of girls giggling. Laura and Carrie had gone to the barn to check on their latest lost 'puppy'. Their father had found a warren of baby rabbits whose mother lay nearby, her throat torn out by a predator. It was just like Charles not to leave the little things alone, but to bring them home for the girls to raise and then release.

Of course, full grown, they might still wind up as supper.

Walking to the door, she opened it to admit Laura and Carrie. Both of them were covered in straw from top to toe.

Anchoring her hands on her hips, she asked, "Now, what have you two been up to?"

"Bunnies go bye," Carrie said.

"Go 'bye'?"

"They escaped, Ma," Laura said as she picked at the straw sticking out of her shoe. "We had to chase them down before Jack got them. I told him they were just babies but he didn't want to listen."

Caroline was shaking her head. She picked up Carrie, sat down at the table, and began to pull the debris from her youngest daughter's brown hair. "Did you catch them all?"

"Sure did, Ma. I counted seven."

"There were eight, Laura," Mary said as she returned to the table with the plates. "I counted them just this afternoon when I went out to milk the cow."

Laura frowned. "Are you sure?"

Her sister nodded. "Sure enough."

Her middle daughter's face screwed up in thought. "Well, maybe one was sleepin' on the other when I counted them. I'll just go back out and see."

The girls had left the door open. Laura headed for it. When she was just about to step out, she turned back. "Ma. It's Pa. Pa's home!"

Even as Laura rushed out the door followed closely by Mary, Caroline turned and looked at the clock. It was only a little after four. She had expected Charles to be home about six.

"I wanna go too!" Carrie proclaimed, squirming in her arms.

She supposed telling a five year old that she wasn't presentable wasn't going to hold much water. With a sigh, Caroline let go. She watched the little girl toddle out the door and then rose and walked over to it. Leaning on the doorjamb, she saw Charles jump down from the wagon and open his arms. As usual the three girls hit him with enough force to bowl him over, though he managed – _just_ managed – to hold his own. Caroline smiled. They were so fortunate to have a man like Charles who was a good provider and protector, and who loved them all so deeply. Pressing off the jamb, she moved into the yard and headed for the wagon.

When she got there, Charles was still holding onto the children. It was almost as if he was afraid to release them. When he noted her approach he gave them each a quick kiss in turn and sent them scooting into the house, promising that he would soon follow.

Caroline watched them go and then turned back to her husband. "You're home early. I didn't expect –"

Before she could get the words out he reached for her, caught her in his arms, and pulled her tightly against him. Charles was a strong man and it was with that strength he held her. When her face pressed against the fabric of his shirt, Caroline found it wet, as if he had sprinkled himself with water. Or, could it be? She looked up at her husband's tired face and red-rimmed eyes.

Had he been crying?

"Charles," she asked, "what in the world is wrong?"

He was holding her, nearly so tightly it hurt, but he wasn't looking at her. He was looking at the house, his eyes following the path the girls had taken.

"Charles?"

He looked down at her and then reached out and cupped her face in his hand. "Not now," he said. "Later. When the girls are asleep."

"All right. But what is it about?"

Charles shook his head. Then he released her and headed for the house.

Puzzled, Caroline followed him, wondering all the while if this had to do with the Reverend Alden's visit.

"Aren't you gonna play tonight, Pa?"

Charles turned to look at his middle daughter. Laura was so small, so young, and so utterly vulnerable. They _all_ were, though it seemed Mary had aged a year and a day since she got engaged.

"Not tonight, Half-pint," he answered. "I'm too tuckered out."

It was only half a lie.

"I'm sorry, Pa. Sorry you have to work so hard. I wish there was more I could do to help." Laura paused. She got that 'thinkin' look on her face – the one that furrowed her reddish brown brows together and turned the corner of her lips upside-down. "I know," she said, breaking into a smile. "I could go do your chores for you. I can feed the horses and –"

He touched her face. "Well, now, Half-pint I don't know how I can thank you for offerin', but I was gonna do the same thing."

"What's that, Pa?"

"Offer to do your and your sisters' chores. "You ain't had a night off in a month of Sundays and I thought – seein' as I can't buy you things – that would be a nice sort of surprise 'present'."

"We don't need anything, Pa," Mary said from across the room. His eldest daughter was washing the supper dishes. Carrie was, well, _trying_ to dry them.

"That's right, Pa. And you worked so hard today, just to take care of us."

Charles reached out and touched his daughter's hair with his hand, marveling at this gift of one in three he had been given. "Don't you worry about it none. That's what I'm here for. Now," he said, rising, "why don't you take your sisters and go back into our room and play a game while I go out and do you chores _and_ mine."

Laura looked puzzled. "Are you sure, Pa?"

He nodded. "I'm sure," he said as he kissed her head and then gave her rump an affectionate pat. "Now you go on, have fun."

As he stood there, watching Laura gather up Carrie and call Mary to follow, Charles became aware of Caroline watching him.

She crossed over and laid a hand on his arm. "Charles, what is this about?

He covered it over with his own. "Get the girls to bed as quickly as you can and then come join me in the barn. I don't want them to hear what I have to say."

"Does this have to do with what the Reverend Alden came here to discuss with you? With the Galenders?"

Charles could feel her shaking and it made him shake too, though with rage instead of fear. Before it overwhelmed him, he leaned down and planted a kiss on Caroline's cheek. Then he whispered in her ear, "I'll be waiting."

And he was.

Several hours later Caroline Ingalls found her husband seated on the barn floor with one of the girls' baby rabbits in his hand. Charles was stroking its head and back. The sun was nearly down and everything was painted that fiery red that came in the autumn as the world began to die, readying to be reborn in the spring. Charles didn't say anything until she was almost upon him.

"I found it alone in the hay near the stall," he remarked, stroking the rabbit between its tiny ears. "Poor little thing was terrified."

"Laura said they got out. She and Carrie thought they had them all. I guess they missed one."

"It's such a little thing," he said. "So helpless..."

Caroline knelt beside her husband. "Charles, what's wrong?"

He looked up. "Are the girls asleep?"

"Yes. I checked on them before I came out."

His eyes went to the house. "Let me put this one in with the others." After he did so, he came back and took her by the hand. "Let's sit out front. I want to keep watch on the house."

"Did you hear a wolf nearby?" she asked as she followed him out of the barn to the bench outside the door.

He gave her the oddest look, but said nothing until they sat down. As they did, he turned toward her and took her hand and covered it with his own strong one. "Caroline, do you trust me?"

"What kind of question is that?"

"I need an answer. Do you trust me to know what's best?"

"Of course I do, Charles. What is this all a – "

He caught her face with his hand. "I need you to listen, Caroline, not ask questions."

She frowned, but said, "All right."

"I know the Reverend Alden spoke to you this afternoon, and I know what he said. I wish he hadn't, but there we are." His green eyes were locked on hers, the look out of them, intense. "The Galenders haven't forgotten or forgiven, and they've made threats against you and the children."

"Charles, no!"

"Yes. And that's why, I'm sending you away."

Her heart was pounding and her mouth had gone dry. "Sending us...away? But Charles, what about _you?"_

"You nevermind _what_ about me. I can take care of myself. It's you and the girls I'm worried about."

"But Charles..."

"Caroline, listen to me!" His tone was as stern as she had ever heard. "I'm not havin' you argue with me. My word is final on this. I've made arrangements with Isaiah and Grace so you and the girls can live with them until this is over."

"And Charles, what are _you_ going to do?" Caroline began to shake. "What are you going to _do?"_

His jaw was set. The look out of his eyes, determined. "Take care of my own."

The only other time she had seen that look was when she had told him that the Galenders had laid their hands on her, stopping her egg delivery, taking hold of her and frightening her so she ran back home. The result of that was him being brought home barely conscious, with three broken ribs, in the back of their wagon.

"Please, Charles, _please_ , don't do this alone."

"It's my fight, Caroline."

"What about the other men? I'm sure they would pitch in."

"They have their own families to look out for. None of them can afford to take time off work to fight my battles."

"But have you asked them –"

"Caroline, no!" he snapped. Then, his tone softening, Charles repeated, "No. And don't _you_ go asking them either. Like I said, I can take care of this myself."

She squeezed his fingers. "Oh, Charles, I am _so_ frightened."

He pulled her close. "Don't be. With you and the girls safe, I can concentrate on taking care of myself and catchin' anyone who comes around here to work mischief. Really, Caroline, the best way you can help me is to stay away until it's all over."

"What about school?"

"It's near harvesting season. Some of the boys are already away. The Reverend was going to talk to Miss Beadle. She said she'd give the girls a reading list and a curriculum to follow so they don't fall behind."

She was silent a moment. When she spoke again, Caroline heard the nervous rattle in her voice. "Charles, do you really think those men are going to try to do something _harmful_ to us?"

He sighed. "I don't rightly know. A bully is a spineless creature when its cornered. Maybe it's all talk." He reached out and stroked her hair. "I just can't take the chance that it isn't."

She snuggled in closer against him. "I don't want to go."

"I know," he replied, encircling her with his arm, "and I don't want you to. This house seems mighty big and _mighty_ empty to a man alone."

Caroline drew a breath and did what she always did – turned on the light and made something good out of a bad situation. "Well, then, we'll just have to make tonight something special." Lifting her head, she turned it slightly and kissed him. "Come to bed, Charles."

Everything that was in him tugged him toward that bed. He shook his head. "I can't."

Caroline sat up. "Why not?"

He nodded toward the house. "I have to keep watch."

He saw suspicion light her eyes – suspicion that he was _not_ telling her everything. "Is it really that bad?" she asked, her voice small as a girl's.

Charles kissed her back. "You go in and go to sleep. I'll be in once the sun is up."

His wife pursed her lips and tucked a loose lock of hair behind her ear, which told him she wasn't happy but she'd do as he asked. Leaning in again, she pecked his lips with her own and squeezed his hand.

"Don't be long."

Charles nodded his agreement as she walked away. Then he went to the side of the barn door where he'd left his rifle and took it in hand and returned to the bench to await the coming of the new day.

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Laura Ingalls was excited. They'd gotten up in the morning thinking it was going to be any old ordinary day. They'd do their chores, get dressed up right fancy for church, go sit through the service, and then come back home and not do much of anything but study the Bible and do other quiet things because you were supposed to rest on the Lord's day.

Instead, they were going to the Edwards!

Even if _Mrs._ Edwards and Ma made them stay quiet, Mister Edwards would find a way to make it fun. And they wouldn't have to have their noses in the Good Book all day long. Why, she bet before the day was half gone that Mister Edwards would even talk her Ma and Mrs. Edwards into letting them go hunt for berries or maybe have a campfire outside, or maybe – just maybe – go fishin'.

It was going to be the most wonderful day!

Laura paused as she cleared the last of the dishes off the breakfast table. Or it would have been, if Ma hadn't been acting funny. She was standing by the window looking out instead of getting ready for church. The only thing out there was Pa who was finishing up some of his chores before doing the same. She'd noticed it the first thing when her Ma had tried to pull Carrie's night dress off before untying the lace at the back and working her sister's arms out of the sleeves. Laura giggled. Carrie'd ended up looking like a sack of flour with those little tip ends wagging in the breeze.

Grown-ups were funny like that. They'd scold you for not paying attention or forgetting what you were about, but when they did the same things they'd just say they were 'preoccupied', meaning they was thinking about two things at once. Laura frowned a little frown. She _liked_ thinking about two things at once and didn't understand why grown-ups found it so hard to do.

"Never made _me_ almost pull someone's arms off," she sighed.

Her mother turned toward her. "Laura, did you say something?"

She straightened up. "No, ma'am. Well, yes, Ma'am, but it wasn't important."

"All right." Her ma looked her up and down. "Leave the rest of the things on the table, Laura. You'd best finish getting ready for church. As soon as you pa comes in and does the same, it will be time to go." There it was, that funny look again. "Have you finished packing for our stay at the Edwards?"

"Mary's upstairs finishing that, Ma. That's why I'm doing her chore."

Her mother's arms were wrapped tightly about her middle. "That was very sweet of you, but leave it now. I'll finish up."

Laura did as she was told and headed for the ladder to the loft. At the bottom, she stopped, "Ma?"

The older woman turned toward her. "Yes?"

"Pa never said how come we are going to stay with Mister and Mrs. Edwards."

"He has to be gone a few days, dear, and he doesn't want us alone. There are some men – _bad_ men – who have come into the area and, since we live so far out, he wants us to be where he knows we're safe. As friends, the Edwards are helping out." She paused. "Do you understand?"

She didn't really. It wasn't that she thought her ma was fibbing – ma _wouldn't_ do that – but there was something there, something more she _wasn't_ telling them. Ma had this _look_ she got and she was wearing it now. It was the look she'd had on her face when she watched out the window that night pa had gone out into the blizzard to get a deer to feed them and almost frozen to death. That look she'd had when those mean old Galender brothers had beat pa and sent him flying back home in the wagon with several broken ribs. What she wanted to do was ask her about Pa and whether leaving him here alone was putting him in some kind of danger. But she knew that was silly even to think. If Ma wanted her and Mary to know, she would have already told them.

"Yes, Ma'am," she answered, not being entirely truthful.

Her mother walked over to her and cupped her face in her hands and planted a kiss right on top of her head.

"Thank you, Laura," she said, and with a little pat on her rump, sent her scurrying up the ladder.

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Mary was just finishing up packing their bag with their extra clothes and books in it when Laura stepped off of the ladder and into their loft room. She latched it and then walked over to the window and looked out. A second later Mary signaled with her hand for her to join her and then put a finger to her lips to tell her she wanted her to be quiet.

"What is it?" Laura breathed as she arrived.

Mary nodded toward the window. "Pa."

"What about..." Her voice trailed off. Pa wasn't doing his chores. He was sitting on a stump outside of the barn with his head down and his hands up – talking to God.

Her sister's lips were all scrunched up and Mary's pretty blue eyes were narrowed. "There's something they're not telling us," she said.

Laura looked again. She'd seen Pa pray a thousand times. He had his different ways of praying. Sometimes when he was really happy and wanted to thank the Lord, he'd keep his head down 'til the 'amen', but then his eyes would go up to the sky where God lived and he'd raise his hands and let out a second louder and longer, _AMEN!_ Then there were those prayers that were just talking to God, and sometimes he did those out loud too as if God was right there walking beside him. But there were other prayers that were always silent, and while Pa prayed he would sweat like he was working hard and sometimes – just _sometimes_ – there would be tears sliding down his cheek

This looked to be one of those.

"What do you suppose it is?" Laura asked.

Mary's blonde head shook. "I don't know. I think it has something to do with those bad men who left town a month or so back."

Laura puzzled it a minute. "You don't mean that mean old Bubba and his brothers?"

Her sister nodded. "I was laying here last night just kind of half-sleeping. Ma and Pa were talking low in their room. I'm not sure, but I think I heard Pa mention the Galenders."

"You s'pose they're back?" It made her shiver.

"I don't think so. I think we'd ...know if they were." Mary turned toward her. "I heard what Ma said to you just now, about 'bad men in the area' and us having to go to Mister Edwards because of them." Mary left the window and went to sit on the bed. "You know how it is. Grown-ups don't want to scare children."

Laura went to sit by her. She shook her head slowly from side to side. "They sure don't. But you know, I think, when they don't tell us what's goin' on, it's even _scarier."_

"I think so too. But _they_ don't. They think they're protecting us, both from being scared and from whatever is going on." Mary hesitated and her voice took on a funny sound. "You know, Laura, I don't know if I'm ready to be an adult."

"Gosh, Mary, you're only thirteen."

"And engaged to be married at fifteen." Mary looked down at her hands. "I could have a baby of my own by the time I'm sixteen."

Laura's eyes widened. "I never thought about it that way – you with a baby." She sat, taking that in for a moment and then brightened, "That means I would be an aunt like Aunt Eliza. Aunt _Laura!"_

Mary smiled too. "I bet you'd be an even better aunt than Pa's sister or Ma's."

Again, she thought about it. "You know, Mary, I made a promise to myself."

"And what was that?"

She stood up and headed for the window again. "That when I get all growed up, I'm gonna remember what it was like to be a little kid, so's I don't go treating them like they're something different from me." She looked out. He father was just rising. As she watched, he ran his sleeve over his eyes. "So I don't scare them."

"Pa and Ma don't mean to scare us, Laura. It's just something grown-ups do."

"Well, not me." She held up a crooked little finger. "Pinky swear!"

Mary grinned as she hooked her own little finger around hers. "Me too."

"Laura, Mary!" Their mother's voice floated up from below. "Are you ready? Your Pa's here."

Laura dashed for the mirror and straightened her hair, and then grabbed her hat and tied it on.

"Coming, Ma!"

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Laura ran down the church steps – well, walked down them really fast – glad to be free at last. The service had been a long one, or at least it felt long. Mostly because Ma and Pa were so quiet and didn't look happy at all. The Reverend Alden gave his sermon based on Proverbs 3:5. It said, ' _Trust in the Lord with all thine heart and lean not unto thine own understanding_.' While the minister was talking Ma's eyes kept flicking to Pa. Pa's jaw was set and he looked like he was ready for a fight. They were staying afterwards taking with the reverend and Mister Edwards. For a minute it seemed like they'd forgotten them and she, Mary, and Carrie sat quiet in the pews. Then their ma turned and looked at them and touched Pa on the shoulder and he told them they could go outside and play.

Quietly.

Truth to tell, she didn't really feel like playing at all, and she didn't want to go to Mister Edwards' house anymore because if he felt like berry picking or fishing, well, she _didn't,_ and she didn't want to hurt his feelings. All she really wanted to do was go back home to her own bed and hide under the covers until whatever it was that was happening went away. Laura blinked as she felt tears well up in her eyes. She didn't know what she was crying about and that scared her almost as much as Ma and Pa not telling her everything. God didn't waste tears, her ma had told her, so if she was crying that meant there had to a reason, and since it wasn't something happening now, then it was probably to come.

"Laura Ingalls whatever is wrong with you?!" a strident voice demanded.

 _Nellie._

Laura blinked back the tears and turned to look at her. "The only thing wrong with me, Nellie Oleson, is that you're talkin' to me!"

"Well, I never!" Nellie shook her head, the blonde curls framing her pinched face bouncing on her shoulder's like a bunch of buggy springs. "Just 'cause a body is concerned about a friend."

"You ain't concerned, Nellie. You're nosy!"

Nellie's shrugged. "Sure, I'm nosy. That's the only way you learn anything. Grownups are always lying to kids, so if you want to know what's going on your have to sneak and listen to them." She paused. "Like I just did."

Laura's eyes went to the church steps where Mary was sitting reading a book and waiting on their folks who were still inside. "You mean you listened in on what Reverend Alden was saying to Ma and Pa and Mister Edwards?"

"Stood right under the open window," she said proudly.

"Nellie, that's sacra...sacer...sacrilegious!"

"No, it's not!" Nellie paused. Her hands went to her hips and her face did that thing it did – shifting from a scowl to a dangerous knowing look. "You know, Laura Ingalls, maybe you're right."

Laura blinked. "I am?"

"Yes, and since what I heard was _sacrilegious_ , I'm sure you want no part of hearing what it was. I'll just go find my brother."

Laura remained still for a moment and then called out, "Nellie."

She pivoted. "Yes?"

"I'm sorry, Nellie. Won't you tell me?"

The girl with the perfect blonde curls walked right up to her and leaned in. "And what will you give me if I do?"

Laura frowned. "I don't have anything you'd want."

Nellie's face lit with a cruel smile. "Well, that's true enough." She thought a moment. "How about this? For one whole day at school you have to do everything I tell you."

The frown deepened. "Everything?"

One blonde eyebrow arched devilishly. " _Everything."_

Laura considered it. It was mighty important she hear what Nellie had to say so she and Mary had some idea of what this big thing was their ma and pa were so upset about. She scrunched her face up and twisted her lips and nodded.

"Say it! And cross your heart when you do."

Laura straightened up. She raised a hand and ran her fingers over the top of her dress. "I promise to let Nellie Oleson spend one whole day at school telling me what to do."

"And I have to do it," Nellie prompted.

Laura's shoulders fell. Well, she'd tried. "And I haf'to do it."

Nellie's smile reminded her of their cat when it was watching a mouse and licking its whiskers. The blonde girl crooked her finger and walked over to stand underneath one of the trees by the church. Laura followed slowly. She _sure_ hoped this was worth it.

"Well?" she asked when they got there.

Nellie leaned in and began to whisper. "I heard the Reverend Alden tell your ma that your pa was gonna get himself killed."

Laura's heart skipped a beat. "You're fibbin'."

The blonde girl crossed her heart. "God's honest truth. Mister Edwards said the same thing. Your pa's mad as a wet hen and he'd going to some other town to beat up two men. He won't listen to anyone and he won't let anyone help him." Nellie sneered, triumphant. "You're gonna be an orphan, Laura Ingalls, because your ma told your pa she was going to come after him if he did. Then they'll _both_ be dead!"

Laura wasn't really listening to Nellie anymore. Nellie was just being mean like always. But she was thinking about what she said. It sounded true.

And that meant her pa was going to die.


	3. Chapter 3

THREE

Charles Ingalls turned and surveyed the church yard for a second time. He'd rounded up Mary and Carrie and they, along with Caroline, were in the Edwards' wagon. Grace and Isaiah, with Alicia and Carl, were ready to head home. They just needed Laura. He'd asked her sisters and neither of them had any idea where she was.

"Charles," his wife pleaded. "Let me stay and look."

He was standing beside the wagon. He reached up and covered her hand with his own. "I'm sure nothing's wrong. She probably went off to play with one of the other children."

"Charles, what about – ?

"Caroline, don't you go borrowin' trouble." He forced a smile. "I'll find her and bring her along. You just go with Isaiah and Grace."

"You need help lookin', Charles?" Isaiah asked from the wagon seat.

He shook his head. "No. I'll ask around. I'm sure someone saw her. You go ahead. I won't be long."

Isaiah held his gaze for a moment longer than was necessary, then he nodded. "See you soon," he said as he slapped the reins against the horse's rump.

As they pulled away, Caroline's words drifted back on the breeze. "Charles, take care..."

Once they were out of sight he allowed himself a moment of panic. He'd made it very clear to the girls that he expected them to stay around the church and not to stray. He hadn't told them why. It was hard knowing just how much to say since too much would scare them and too little, leave them unafraid. They were old enough to know there was evil in the world, but it was one thing talking about an evil that had no name and another one entirely when it came to naming it. The girls would remember the Galenders and remember what they had done to him, and that would be bad enough. But to tell them that someone wanted to do the same kind of thing to _them_...

A wave of rage, fear, and nausea rolled over him. How could anyone want to harm a child?

Raised voices caught his attention and Charles turned to find Nels Oleson marching his daughter Nellie straight toward him. When they got to his side, the tall thin man said, "I need to apologize for my daughter, Charles." He glared at the pouting, struggling girl. "Again."

"What for?"

"Nellie was listening in on your conversation with the reverend and she told Laura what she heard."

Charles stiffened. His eyes went to Nellie. She was putting on a good front but he could tell she knew she was in real trouble this time. Using his deepest 'Pa' voice, he asked, "What did you tell Laura, Nellie?"

She was looking at her toes. "Nothing."

"That's not what you told me," her father said, giving her a little shake.

"You're hurting me!"

"I'll hurt you more, you little minx, if you don't tell Charles what you said. Don't forget, I have a strop at home."

Nellie was looking desperately back toward the church.

"And don't expect your mother to rescue you. She already took Willie and headed home." At the girl's look, he added, "I sent them."

Her eyes shot to her father and then to him. "I only told her what I heard."

"And what did you hear?" Charles demanded. "Tell me."

"I heard the Reverend Alden say you were going to get yourself killed!"

Charles drew a breath. "And you told Laura that?"

Nellie shuffled her feet. "I might have..."

Nels was shaking his head. "I'm sorry, Charles. Do you want me to help you hunt for Laura?"

"Thank you, Nels. I'll be all right. You get your daughter home."

Nels nodded. "I'll get her home all right!" With that he took hold of Nellie's ear and began to move. "Come on, Nellie!"

She squealed like a little piggy all the way across the church yard.

With the services over, most people had taken off. Charles caught as many as he could and asked if they had seen Laura, but no one had. Finally, desperate, he walked toward the back of the church, headed for the woods. A sound stopped him. It was small and coming from the little shed behind the white framework building.

A child was crying.

Looking up, he whispered a quick 'thanks' and then headed for the shed. It only took a moment to find her. The door was partially open and he could see Laura's shoes and stockings through the opening. Charles stopped just outside the door.

"Laura," he called softly. "Half-pint, it's Pa."

There was a sniff, and then silence.

"Are you comin' out or should I come in?"

"Are you mad, Pa?"

"No, Half-pint. I'm not mad. Looks to me like you did what you were told."

Her little face appeared in the opening. It was streaked with dirt and tears. "How's that?"

"I told you to stay near the church, and here you are."

She disappeared back into the darkness. "I'm sorry I ran away, Pa."

Charles sat down by the door. "So am I. You want to tell me why you did."

He heard her intake of breath. "That old Nellie Oleson..."

He leaned his head against the shed. _Lord_ , he was weary. "You oughta be used to Nellie by now."

"I am, Pa. It's just..."

"Just what?" Charles paused. "Was it something Nellie said?"

Again, silence.

"Half-pint?"

"Yes..."

"Well?"

"She said I was gonna be an orphan."

Charles shifted and looked toward the door. "An orphan? Whatever did she say that for?"

He heard her sniff again. "Nellie said...she was listening when you were talking with the reverend...she said _he_ said you was gonna get yourself...killed...and that ma said she was gonna go after you..."

How such a decent man as Nels could have begot such a wicked child as Nellie he would never understand. Charles reached out with his hand and pushed the door in. "Half-pint, you come out here."

Another sniff. "Yes, sir."

When she emerged, he held his arms out. "Sit with me."

Laura looked at him, tears in her eyes, and then fell into his lap and took hold of him like there was no tomorrow. "I love you, Pa," she said softly against his shirt. "I don't _ever_ want anything to happen to you."

Charles laid a hand on her head and stroked her soft, silken hair. "You know, Half-pint, someday it will."

She looked up. "What will?"

"Someday something _will_ happen to me. I'll grow old and you'll grow up and you'll make your own place in the world and have your own family. And then, one day, I'll be gone."

"Oh, Pa! No!" She gripped him even tighter.

"Do you know your Bible, Half-pint?"

She nodded against him.

"Can you recite Second Samuel fourteen fourteen?"

She puzzled it for a minute. "No, sir."

He had never been much of one for book learning, though he was thankful his girls were. Still, he'd gone to church his entire life and read his Bible regularly – if not a regularly as Caroline. As a boy he'd liked Samuel with its stories of King David, a flawed man whom God loved dearer than any other. Fourteen fourteen was one of the verses that had stuck with him through the trials of life. He'd remembered it when his son died.

"For we must needs die, and are as water spilt on the ground, which cannot be gathered up again; neither doth God respect _any_ person: yet doth he devise means, that his banished be not expelled from him." Charles paused. "You know what that means, Half-pint?"

She shook her head again.

"God gives us a time to walk this earth, to do good and work toward accomplishing His will. He gives us pleasures 'cause He loves His children, but He gives us pains too, to teach us and make us more like His son, and when it's over, we go to be with Him." Charles took his fingers and lifted her head by the chin so he could look into her eyes. "You loved your brother and your brother died. He's in Heaven now," he said, choking a bit. "But Freddie's here too, in your heart." He touched her little chest with his fingers and felt her heart pounding hard in it. "That's where I'll be too, _always_."

Half-pint's face was all screwed up from thinking. "But Pa," she said softly, "I want you here, _now_. Do you gotta go away?" Laura shook her head. "'Cause if it's dangerous like Nellie said, I don't think you should go."

"Half-pint, sometimes there's things we have to do whether they're dangerous or not. This is one of them." He paused. "I'm gonna ask you a question, okay?"

"What's that?"

"I'm gonna ask you the same thing I asked your Ma."

She was looking up at him, the question in her eyes.

He took her hand, just like he had Caroline's. "Half-pint, do you trust me to know what's best for you and your sisters, and your ma?" He almost laughed at her expression. She thought long and hard before answering.

Finally, she said, "Yes, sir."

"That's good to know," he answered, his lips curling in a tight smile. "What your ma told you is true. There are bad men in the area who want to hurt us all. Not just me, but your Ma and my girls."

"How come, Pa?"

"Well, I don't rightly know, but I think it's 'cause of me."

She shuddered a bit. "Is it the Galenders?"

He nodded.

"How come you didn't tell us before?"

"I didn't tell you because I didn't want to scare you."

"Well, sir, you did," she said matter-of-factly.

Charles smiled at his child's forthright nature, which would do her in good stead one day.

"I know that now, Half-pint. I guess I forget how grown up you girls are getting to be." He released her and helped her up, and then stood up himself. Holding out his hand, he indicated she should take it. "You know what I think we should do?"

She took it. "What?"

"We need to go to Mister Edward's house and get your sister Mary and your Ma and all sit down and talk this out."

She nodded. "Carrie's too little, isn't she? She'd not growed up yet."

"No, she's not growed up. Leastways not as much as you." Charles shook his head sadly. "I guess that means you're too big to ride on your Pa's back."

Laura's eyes lit up. "Well, I ain't _that_ big."

Charles leaned down and kissed her on the head, and then turned around and knelt. "Your steed awaits you, my lady."

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Goodbye was a hard word. It was so... _final._

Oh, people tried to get around it by saying 'See you soon', or 'Until we meet again', but no one was fooled. 'Goodbye' was a door with a knob on only one side and there was nothing you could do but wait and see if whoever was on the other side would open it again.

Caroline took both her husband's hands in her own and looked at him. Charles was so handsome and strong. She loved his laugh and his irresistible smile, but most of all she loved his irrepressible _spirit_. Through all the trials they had experienced since leaving the Big Woods, he had never faltered or failed them. He had provided for her and the children, always putting them first.

Which was what he was doing now, though it pained her to admit it.

Squeezing his fingers, she said, "For goodness sake, Charles, be careful."

His eyes crinkled at the edges. "Well, I'm not exactly planning on being reckless."

"These are evil men, Charles. They tried to kill you once before – "

"Caroline, there's no proof of that." He touched her face with his hand. "I think the Galenders were just trying to scare me. They just got a little...overzealous."

"What about this _new_ threat?" she demanded.

He shrugged. "It's a rumor 'til I get to Sleepy Eye and prove it one way or the other."

"Charles Ingalls," she said, holding his gaze, "you're not fooling me. You're trying to make me think it's not dangerous for you to go!" She hesitated, fighting against the fear that was rapidly turning to anger. "Oh! There are times I wish I was a _man!"_

Charles snorted. "Well, I, for one, am glad you're not."

"You know what I mean," she frowned. "If I was a man I could go with you and confront those Galenders and – "

"Just like you're tellin' me _not_ to do?" he asked quietly.

Caroline put her hand to her mouth to hide her smile. "I suppose that _is_ a little insincere."

"No, it's not," her handsome husband said as he leaned in and kissed her quick. "It's a _lot_."

She smacked him so hard on the shoulder he said 'Ouch!' "You're incorrigible!"

Charles's brows winged toward the mass of brown curls on his forehead as he cocked his head and grinned. "I'm not sure what that is, but if it's what I _am_ then it's got to be good."

She looked at him long and hard. Then she stepped forward and wrapped her arms about his waist. "Oh, I will _miss_ you."

"It's only for a few days – maybe a week. I've been gone longer."

Yes, he had been. But that was to go for supplies, or hunting with Isaiah, and not to a strange town to confront two men whom even Reverend Alden – dear, beneficent Reverend Alden – called tools of the Devil.

"Ma?" A little voice called. When she turned to look, she saw Laura heading toward them. "Mrs. Edwards wants to know if she should hold supper?"

"I really should go," Charles suggested gently.

She turned back and for just a second – one of those seconds she told her girls about, where that sure and certain faith in God wavers – she felt completely lost. Even though Laura was almost at their side, she leaned her forehead on his chest and whispered, "God go with you and preserve you, Charles."

He nodded but said nothing, overcome himself. Turning to Laura he touched the top of her hair. "You take care of your Ma, Half-pint."

Laura beamed up at him, her eyes full of love. "I will, Pa, I promise."

"Don't you give her any trouble."

"I won't."

Caroline had pulled back from Charles. She took Laura's hand as he headed for the wagon, and watched with her child until the man she loved disappeared.

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It was later that night when Grace Edwards heard a knock at her door. Caroline was saying goodnight to her babes. Heavens knew what she was telling them! Supper had been a somber affair even with Isaiah doing his best to lighten things up. The Ingalls worry had worn off on her own as well as Carl and Alicia were anxious about their friends. The only one who seemed unmindful of what was happening was precious little Carrie who'd laughed and giggled when Isaiah threw her up into the air and bounced her on his knee like a bucking horse. But even Carrie felt her father's absence and had started crying a short time ago and asking for her Pa.

Grace put her book down and went to the door and opened it. She was surprised to find Nels Oleson and Lars Hansen standing outside.

Lars removed his hat and said, "Good evening, Mrs. Edwards. Is your husband home?"

"Isaiah is out in the barn tending to the stock." She stepped back. "Why don't you come in and wait?"

The older man glanced at his companion and then back. "We won't disturb the little ones?"

"Caroline is seeing to her girls. Alicia is with them. Carl's already asleep. I checked. If you're not loud it won't be any trouble." She moved into the room, questions spinning in her head. Turning back she asked, "Can I get you any coffee? It's hot on the stove."

"That would be lovely," Nels said as he followed Mister Hansen into the room.

"Why don't you both take a seat at the table?"

As she went to the cupboard to get two china cups, the door to Alicia's room opened and Caroline stepped out. She was preoccupied and so it took her a moment to recognize that they had company. When she did, her face fell and she paled.

Lars was on his feet immediately. "Caroline, do not worry. There is nothing wrong."

She drew a deep breath and her hand went out to catch the back of a chair. "Oh. I thought..."

"They've come to talk to Isaiah," Grace said, crossing over to her and taking her by the elbow. "Why don't you join them at the table? I'll bring you some tea."

Caroline's eyes shown with gratitude. "Thank you, Grace."

As Caroline took her seat, the door opened again and Isaiah stepped in. "Say, Grace, there's wagon outside. It looks like –" He stopped in mid-sentence when he saw the two men. "I thought that was your wagon, Nels. What brings you two out here this late?"

Lars eyes flicked to Nels and then back. "Ve have a business proposition to discuss. I have to give a man an answer tomorrow. Ve do apologize for coming out so late."

Isaiah turned away to place his hat on the rack by the door. If he'd done it a second later, he would have seen her purse her lips and shake her head ever so slightly while tilting it toward their guest, and wouldn't have asked, "What sort of business proposition?"

Lars glanced at her. "I am sure you ladies would be bored with what ve need to talk about. Ve have some of the items that need transport in the wagon, Isaiah. Perhaps ve should go outside?"

Grace glanced at Caroline. She was watching the interplay and not fooled one bit.

"Charles business always interests me," she said quietly. "I am sure Grace is the same."

Isaiah was looking from one to the other. One of the things she liked about him was that, even though he was a card and loved to talk, he was really a deep thinker. It took him a lot longer to come to conclusions, but once they came, they were as solid as the earth beneath your feet.

In other words, he got _it._

"Oh. Oh. No, now Caroline, Grace just pretends to be interested. Ain't that right, Grace?"

She smiled. "I suppose it depends on the business being discussed," she replied, knowing Caroline's suspicions would only notch up if she gave in too quickly.

"Buying goods and selling them and market prices," Lars said. "Nothing exciting there."

Nels nodded. "Boring!"

Grace resisted the urge to roll her eyes. She puzzled a moment, trying to think of how to move the three men outside without it appearing too suspicious when Heaven intervened. The door to Alicia's room that she was sharing with the Ingalls' girls opened and Laura appeared, rubbing her eyes.

"Ma, Carrie's crying again and we can't get her to stop."

Caroline shot one last look at the two men and then rose to her feet. "Coming."

Grace watched her go and then turned to the three men. "Now would be a good time to step outside."

"What?" Isaiah asked. "Oh, yeah. Let's go take a look at that wagon of yours, Lars."

She followed them to the door and closed it behind them, and then went to sit in her chair and picked her book up again. A few minutes later Caroline came out of the girls room.

"Is Carrie sleeping?" Grace asked.

Caroline's arms were wrapped around her midriff. "For now," she said as she came to stand beside her. "I think she senses everyone else's fear."

"I'm sorry you have to go through this. And just because your husband did the right thing by standing up to those bully boys when no one else would."

She had crossed to the window and was looking out. "I wonder what they want. I'm sure it has nothing to do with business."

Grace rose and crossed to her. "They're good men. Whatever it is, it's meant for the best."

When Caroline turned back, there were tears in her eyes. "Thank you for preparing a place for me, Grace, but I'm going to sleep on the floor beside Carrie." She reached out and took her hand with a little laugh. "I think she misses her Pa more than I do!"

Grace squeezed her fingers. "Goodnight, Caroline. Charles will be uppermost in my prayers."

One tear fell. "Thank you," she said, her voice tight, and then moved quickly to Alicia's room and stepped inside.

Grace watched her go and then crossed back to the window. The three men were deep in a discussion.

She wondered what it was about.

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"You know how stubborn Charles is," Lars Hansen said. "Ve offered to send someone along vith him and he would have none of it."

Isaiah looked from the older man to Nels who had just finished relating what Nellie told him she had overheard. He nodded. "I knew some of it from Charles. I offered to go too, but he said 'no'."

Lars shook his head. "It is two against one. That is vhy he did not defeat them before."

"I agree," Nels said. "Charles is a strong man. We've seen that often enough. I'll never forget that chopping contest." He shook his head. "But Charles is also a honest man and he won't fight dirty. The Galenders will have no such scruples."

"Look at the last time," Lars agreed. "Doctor Baker said they did not use their hands but beat him vith a branch the size of a man's wrist!"

Isaiah nodded, agreein'. "So what is it you think we should do?"

Lars looked at Nels and then back at him. "Someone should go after him, and ve think it should be you."

His eyebrows popped up toward his grizzled hair. "Now wait a minute. Charles ain't gonna like that. He put me in charge of keepin' his wimmen safe."

"We've spoken to some of the men in town," Nels said. "They've agreed to watch your place in shifts. It will never be left unguarded. Isaiah. Any man can stand guard. We feel you are the best suited to help Charles and maybe..." The merchant drew a breath. "...keep him from being killed."

It tugged at him that thought. He'd been the one to find Charles in the back of his wagon after the Galenders had nigh on beat him to death. While Bubba had had no part in it and that there Sam was a lick short of being a man, the oldest Galender, George, was somethin' different. When the minister had said there the Devil was in their midst, he was lookin' at George. There was somethin' in the man's eyes. Somethin' not quite right. He and Charles had talked about it later and his friend had agreed.

It was George what beat him with the stick.

"Well, when you put it that way," he said with a sigh. "Still, Charles ain't gonna cotton to me leavin' Caroline and the girls here alone."

"They won't be alone," Nels said. "Not for one minute. We have about a half dozen men from the church who have agreed to help out."

"Ja," Lars agreed. "Charles and his family are a valuable part of our community. No one vants to see harm come to them."

He wasn't lookin' forward to the first meetin' with Charles but then, they'd had their differences before. He'd just have to make him see that he was bein' a bull-headed cantankerous horse's behind.

What good did it do protectin' Caroline and the girls if they ended up losing their Pa?

"All right. I'll get my things and get on the road tonight."

Lars nodded. "Ve think that would be for the best. I vill stay overnight vith the wimmen. Halsdorf will be out tomorrow to take the first watch."

Isaiah looked at the two men. "You're good men, you know that."

The mill owner shook his head. "No, but I do know it is a good man ve are trying to save."


	4. Chapter 4

FOUR

Charles was dead tired by the time he pulled into Sleepy Eye. The journey had taken the better part of two days. He'd sped it up a bit by leaving the wagon with the same man whose house the Reverend Alden and his friend Lavey had met in. The man had been more than happy to put up one of the horse's and stable the wagon for a very meager sum. Riding on the horse he had made better time and arrived at Sleepy Eye mid-afternoon on the second day. Sleepy Eye was about forty miles from home as a crow flies. It was a modest size city, though it seemed like a bustling metropolis when compared to Walnut Grove. It had been named after a Sioux chief who had a droopy eyelid. He was one of the one's who had gone to meet President Madison in eighteen hundred and twenty four. It wasn't too long after that the Sioux had signed away almost all of their land but a ten mile strip in a treaty. Eventually the chief and his people moved to live beside the lake.

After hitching his horse to a rail where there was a water trough, Charles turned in a circle looking for the jail. He was hot and tired and really wanted nothing more than a drink himself, but he didn't want to waste any time. He needed to find the jail and find out from the sheriff where the man was who had told Reverend Lavey about the threat to his family, so he could talk to him and then head back. He trusted Isaiah to look out for Caroline and the girls, but being away still left him uneasy.

No man was as vigilant as the one who owned what was in danger.

Giving his horse a pat on the neck, he stepped up onto the boardwalk and stopped the first person passing by. The man was suspicious at first, but told him where the jail was. Charles laughed. He probably figured if he was asking for the sheriff he posed no threat. The jail, he said, was on the opposite side of the street near the livery. As he headed that way, Charles put to memory the buildings and back alley ways – just in case. It didn't take him long, and fortunately, the sheriff was in.

The man looked up when he opened the door. He was a typical tough old bird who looked like he might have seen service in the last war. His hair was gray. It winged around a tanned and lined face. He was a trim man – almost rangy – and limped as he came around his desk. Charles noted his hand was on his gun.

"What can I do for you, stranger?" he asked.

Charles removed his hat. "I've come to ask about one of your prisoners."

"Name of?"

He hesitated. "I don't know his name. He was brought in a few days back after a brawl in the saloon. I need to talk to him. It's...important." The sheriff did not look convinced – or even slightly curious. "The Reverend Lavey talked to him."

The lack of interest disappeared.

"What's your name?"

"Sorry," he said, extending a hand. "Charles. Charles Ingalls."

The sheriff chewed that over for a minute. "Ingalls, is it? Out of Walnut Grove?" The older man went to his desk and leaned a hip on it. "So you're the man old Patch Parkins says he was hired to kill?"

It was a blow to the stomach to hear it put so offhand as that.

"He was hired to murder my family," he said, his jaw tight.

The sheriff crossed his arms and leaned back. "That why you're here? To stop him?"

Charles frowned. "From what I understood he decided not to go through with it. Are you telling me different?" Panic seized him. Caroline and the girls were alone!

"You got it right," the older man said with a hint of a wry smile. "Just checkin'." Pushing off the desk, the sheriff went to sit in the seat behind it. "Patch ain't here. I had to let him go."

He'd been afraid of that. The man had been jailed because of being drunk and disorderly, not because he had threatened his family. "Do you know where he is?"

The sheriff picked up a pair of glasses and anchored them on his nose before looking up at him. "I do. What you have to do, Mister Ingalls, is convince me why I should tell _you_ where he is."

There was a chair in front of the desk. He indicated it with a nod. "May I sit down?"

"It's yours," the other man said.

As he dropped into the wooden seat, a wave of weariness all but overcame him. He passed a hand before his eyes and then met the other man's stare. "The men who hired Mister Parkins, they came to our town and took advantage of everyone there. The youngest...struck my eldest daughter and the older two, they...they tried to take advantage of my wife."

"All of which makes you one mighty angry man, Mister Ingalls, whom I don't know from Adam." He shook his head. "You ain't convincing me."

"These men, George and Sam Galender, are the ones who hired this man to burn my house down." Charles drew a steadying breath. "With my wife or one of my children – if not all – in it."

"And?"

"I understand he had a change of heart – couldn't go through with it. I just want to ask him exactly what the Galenders said. I need to know if my family is truly in danger."

"You got you a sheriff there in Walnut Grove?"

He shook his head. "No. We do our own policin'."

"Pity." The older man remained silent, thinking. "I'll tell you what I'll do, Mister Ingalls. You and me, we'll go out to old Patch's place together and see what he has to say, and then I would suggest you get a hotel room and bed down for the night. You look about done in."

He felt 'about done in', but he had no intention of staying in Sleepy Eye. "I'd like to, Sheriff..."

"Caldwell. Burt Caldwell."

"Sheriff Caldwell. I'd like nothing better, but I gotta get home as soon as I can. I have a wife and three daughters and they need me there to keep them safe."

"You got neighbors, don't you?"

He nodded. "Good ones. But it's not the same. A man...well...he has to look after his own."

The sheriff nodded. "A man must stand erect, not be kept erect by others, you mean, if he's to call himself a man."

Charles nodded.

"Well, I suppose you know what you're about. Just consider this. If you run your horse off the road in the middle of the night and break your neck, or get waylaid by some outlaw, it won't do those women of yours any good." One gray eyebrow peaked. "You take my meaning?"

"I do," he said, standing. "Now when can we go?"

The sheriff looked him up and down. "When was the last time you had anything to eat, Mister Ingalls?"

"This morning." It was a lie. It had been the night before.

"All right, we'll go now on one condition."

"And that is?"

"That when we get back to town you let me buy you supper before you head back to Walnut Grove."

Charles' eyes misted. He held out his hand and said as the sheriff took it, "It's a deal."

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The figure of a middle aged man with black hair pulled back into the darkness of the alley beside the jail as Sheriff Caldwell walked out of his office with Charles Ingalls. He'd been right when he thought the man going in was the same one who had got them run out of Walnut Grove. There was no missing that swagger he had, like he was a personal favorite of God or something. A righteous man going about the Lord's righteous business driving innocent men away from what they'd earned with their own hands.

Careful to hug the side of the building, the man watched as the lawman waited by the rail while Ingalls unhitched his horse, and then directed him with a nod toward the livery where he kept his stabled. He waited and watched and saw them ride along the main street of town, heading west. He'd followed Ingalls into town and hid in the alley, listening at the window, so he knew they was headed for Patch Parkins' place. Him and his brother had been out to see Patch earlier in the day. Patch'd been warned to keep his mouth shut – _or else._ Still, it didn't matter whether he did or not.

There was no way George was gonna let Charles Ingalls walk out of town upright. They'd used a wagon the last time.

This time, it would be a pine box.

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Sheriff Burt Caldwell paused with his hand over Patch Parkins' door. He thought he'd taken the measure of the man beside him. Charles Ingalls was a decent sort – a farmer with a farmer's heart, rock steady, tied to the earth, and all about living things. He was probably a church going man, maybe even an elder in the local congregation. He had a fine wife and a house full of fine children that meant more to him than his own life.

And that was the problem.

A man protecting himself was a dangerous enough thing. But a man protecting the ones he loved, especially this kind of a man, was bound to leap before he thought just how far he might fall.

Before his knuckles contacted the wood, he turned to the man at his side and said, "You let me do the talkin', you hear?"

Ingalls nodded, but his heart wasn't in it. He'd watched the farmer's agitation grow the closer they got to Patch's place. He'd explained to him – or had tried to – that Patch Parkins sober was a man to reckoned with.

Hopefully he'd be drunk as a skunk when he opened the door.

As he knocked, Burt Caldwell called out, "Patch, Patch! It's Sheriff Caldwell. Open your door." There was a shuffling sound inside, but no one answered. "Patch! This is official business. Open up!"

Charles came up beside him, his jaw set and his eyes determined. "We should break the door down."

Burt's brows lifted. _Definitely_ a hothead. "Now, Mister Ingalls, that would mean I'd have to put _you_ in jail."

The farmer looked a little abashed – but not much.

Knocking again, he called, "Patch. I ain't goin' away until I talk to you."

Patch Parkins was a middle-aged tending toward old, slender but sinewy man who hadn't done a lick of decent work in his life. He'd been on the rebel side during the war between the states and had been something of a hired gun and bounty hunter ever since it ended. He'd considered running him out of town but most of the time old Patch was so drunk he presented little threat. He imagined he'd taken the Galenders proposal to burn out the Ingalls because he needed the money. He already had so many deaths on his conscience, Patch probably thought one more wouldn't mean anything until he learned that 'one' more was a woman and her girls.

"What do you want to talk about?" came the surly reply at last.

"Time of the day. Who's winning the next election. Seems you and I are due for a chat."

"It ain't been two days since I saw you."

"That's right. It's _been_ two days. You know when I let you out I told you I'd be checkin' up on you. Well, this here is the promised check-up."

There was a pause. "You alone?"

The sheriff lifted his hat and scratched his head. His eyes flicked to Charles. He tipped his head to the right, indicating the farmer should step out of the line of sight. "Sure enough am."

It took about thirty seconds, but there was a _click_ and then the latch lifted. Burt Caldwell shot the farmer a wary look and then stepped back.

When the door opened Patch had a gun in his hand. Blowing out a breath, the lawman said, "Now, Patch, what're you thinkin' pointing that thing at me? I've half a mind to – " He stopped. He'd been looking at the gun and not the man. Now that he had, he knew why he was holding it. "Patch, what happened?"

Patch's hand was shaking, but then, so was his whole body. One eye was black and there was blood crusted on his lips and at the edge of one eye. Further down, where his shirt was open, the flesh was beginning to bruise.

He'd obviously been beaten.

"Give me the gun, Patch," he said as he stepped into the house. "You don't want to hurt anybody by that thing going off accidentally – especially me."

"I'd kill you if I could," he declared.

"No, you wouldn't. You might get a real lawman in this town, and then where would you be?" Caldwell advanced until the gun was pointed directly at his belly and he was less than a foot away. "I'm the only friend you got, Patch. You kill me and, most likely, by this time next year you'll hang."

"Ain't no rope strong enough to break this neck," the other man growled.

"Maybe not, but then you'll just swing until you choke."

It took a minute for Patch to think that over. He turned the gun around and handed it to him butt first before walking over to the table and sitting down. There was a bottle of whiskey there. Patch lifted it and downed at least a quarter of it before looking at him again.

The sheriff placed the weapon behind his waistband and then turned to the door and called, "You can come in now, Mister Ingalls."

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As he stepped into the house Charles noted the man's reaction to his name. It was a mixture of surprise, dismay, and plain old ordinary fear. For a moment, like a caged animal Patch Parkins shifted from side to side, as if seeking an avenue of escape. Then he leaned forward and placed his head in his hands.

For Charles, the emotions were just as mixed. This was the man who had accepted a proposal to kill one, if not all of his family. To take money for _blood._ Looking at him he was filled with a rage that was hard to put into words but, at the same time, he was surprised to find this would-be killer was nothing more than the wrecked shell of a man.

Maybe that's what you had to be, to be a hired killer.

Sheriff Caldwell pulled out a chair and sat down. He indicated he should do the same. As Charles took a seat across from Parkins, the lawman said, "Patch, I'd advise you to start talkin'. Mister Ingalls here is not a patient man. He _is_ a good bit younger than I am. Might be he could overpower me and take your gun and use it." His eyes flicked to Charles. "Can't say as what it would be justified under the law."

The hired killer's head came up. "You're gonna let him _kill_ me?"

Caldwell shrugged. "I'm thinkin' about it. After all, you ain't exactly a contributing member of the community."

"That'd be cold blooded murder!"

The lawman leaned back. He nodded. "Just like you were plannin' on committin'."

Charles' fingers gripped the seat of the chair; his knuckles gone white. There was nothing he wanted more than to dive across the table and take Patch Parkins by the throat and force the truth out of him, but he understood what the Sheriff was doing, so he waited.

It was agony, but he waited.

Patch's eyes flicked to him. "You're the man whose family George Galender fingered?"

Charles' jaw was tight. "Yes."

"He hates you, you know."

"I could care less what George Galender thinks of me," Charles growled.

The hired killer was shaking his head. "You should, friend. You should."

"I am not your friend!" Charles exploded.

"But I _am_ yours." Parkins didn't move a muscle. "Galender knew you'd come lookin' for me once you knew about the threat to your family."

Charles felt the color drain from his face. He hadn't for one minute considered that the Galenders might use a threat against his family to draw him to where they were. Still, as horrific as that thought was, it was freeing too. If true, it meant Caroline and the girls were not in danger.

Sheriff Caldwell was eyeing the human derelict across from him. "Now you let me get this straight, Patch. Are you saying there never was any threat to Mister Ingalls' family?"

The killer snorted. "Oh, no, I was hired to burn them out." He had been avoiding his gaze, but now Patch looked directly at him. "I was told to make sure he was away from home and then to go about my...business."

"But you just indicated the threat was to Mister Ingalls himself."

Patch rose and moved to a cupboard where he collected three glasses. Returning to the table he filled them and shoved one toward Charles. "Drink it," he said. "You're gonna need it."

Charles shook his head. "I don't take spirits."

The killer tossed his back and then snorted. "Your loss."

Sheriff Caldwell left his untouched as well. "What _aren't_ you telling us?"

Patch indicated his face. "You see this?"

"Certainly," the lawman said.

"George and Sam paid me a little... _visit_ this morning. Told me to keep my mouth shut if I wanted to see the sun rise again." He tossed back another drink. "They don't scare me. I ain't afraid to die."

"What does?" Charles asked through clenched teeth.

The man stopped halfway through pouring another drink. "Eh?"

"What scares you?" he demanded.

Patch Parkins was suddenly sober. "Mister Ingalls, I got a good many deaths on my conscience, some that men deserved and others, maybe not. But I ain't ever killed a woman or a child." He took another drink. "I thought I could, but I couldn't." He looked at the bottle again, found it empty, and tossed it to the side before turning to him again. "You ask what scares me? I'll tell you. Lookin' God in the eye and answerin' for that."

"Forget about God. You didn't answer my question and it's me doing the reckoning right now," Caldwell warned. "What _aren't_ you telling us?"

Patch's eyes remained on him. "You seem like a good man, Mister Ingalls, a godly man I bet and a first-rate provider for your family. You got a backbone like iron and you don't make compromises and you wonder why all men aren't like you. I bet you got a loving mother and father back where you came from, and family too."

Charles was growing impatient. "So?"

"Well, me and the Galenders, we're another kind of man. My pappy beat me 'til I bled most every week of my life. He beat my ma too so she died, and then he married a witch of a woman who hated children. I put up with it for years, but the day came when I couldn't put up with it no more and I killed him. You see I'd growed bigger than him and so I strangled him with my bare hands." Patch pushed his seat back but the killer's gaze never wavered from his own. "So, you see, Mister Ingalls, when George Galender said that in the end what he wanted to do was make the husband and pa of all those women suffer afore he died, that meant nothin' to me but a paycheck, so to speak."

Caldwell let out a long sigh. "I told you Ingalls."

Charles heard the lawman but his words didn't register. He was still reeling from the idea that such pure evil existed in the world and that, somehow he and his family had become the object of it.

Patch Parkins shifted again. "Shocked you, didn't I?"

The sheriff was rising. "We need to get you out of town, Ingalls. Now. Tonight."

He blinked and shook himself. Looking up at the sheriff he said, his voice sounding as unsteady as he felt, "I have one more question for Parkins."

"What's that?"

Charles drew a deep breath. It was a question that plagued him. "Since you turned down the Galenders' offer, was someone else hired to fulfill it?"

Patch shook his head. "I don't rightly know. You'd have to ask the Galenders."

Charles rose from his seat. "Thank you. I _intend_ to do that." And with that, he turned and walked out the door.

While he waited for the sheriff , Charles paced off a distance of about twelve feet that lay between one tree and another. He had to move – had to _do_ something. He'd thought of walking back to town, but he figured that would set the sheriff on his heels. He had to appear cooperative and then find a way to circle back and confront the Galenders.

If the sheriff knew what he intended, he would stop him – maybe even lock him up in jail.

Charles halted and struck his fist against one of the trees. He felt about as helpless as he had that night the tornado had torn through his property. It was a force of God and nature and there was nothing he could do to stop the destruction it left in its wake.

Where, he wondered, _where_ was God in _this?_

Even as the thought entered his mind he heard Caroline's gentle voice scolding him, making the words of the Apostle Paul her own. _'You know what the Lord says, Charles. The King is familiar with these things. None have escaped His notice, because they're not being done in a corner.'_

His wife's rock solid faith shamed him. Caroline, more than anything else, anchored him and kept him going. He couldn't imagine a world without her.

"Ingalls."

There were tears in his eyes, but he didn't care. He turned toward the lawman.

His look said everything.

"Mister Ingalls," the sheriff responded. "I am going to buy you that meal like I said and watch you eat it, and then I am going to send you on your way. I don't want to see you in my town again unless it's with another lawman when you come back to testify at the Galenders trial."

Charles drew a deep, steadying breath. "You intend to arrest them?"

"Not right now, but it shouldn't be too hard to gather enough evidence to put them in jail. Patch will testify about what they hired him to do." Caldwell scowled. "There've been other things, other beatings and trouble since they settled outside of town.'

"If its anything like Walnut Grove, they're slippery than snakes and you'll have a hard time making anything stick," Charles countered.

"You just let that be _my_ worry." The sheriff pinned him with his ice blue eyes. He held out a hand. "Now, I know you are a God fearin' man, Mister Ingalls. I want you to take my hand and shake it and promise you won't try to take on the Galenders on your own."

Charles hesitated only a split second before shaking the lawman's hands.

He wasn't immature enough to do it but, just like Laura, in his mind he had his fingers crossed behind his back.

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

George Galender sighted along the ax he held in his hand and brought it down with all the strength he had, splitting the piece of firewood in front of him with enough force to send both halves flying a good ten feet out. Both the sound and action were immensely satisfying. He hefted the ax again, feeling the power in his arms, and then turned and flung it so it lodged in a nearby tree – about a foot above little brother Bubba's head.

It went to show how used they was to one another that Bubba didn't even look up.

The life they'd led had been a good one, moving from town to town as the pickings got slim. At first it was just him and Samuel. Their pa had been a sanctified and holy, hard drinkin', hard livin', and even harder driven man who beat them when they looked the wrong way, telling them the Lord hated little boys who lied and cheated and talked back to their Pa. Their ma was nothing, a silent shadow that moved about the house. She didn't live much past Samuel. It was twenty years later their pa took himself another woman, a pretty but useless thing that had danced for a living. She gave birth to little brother and then took off a afore he was five years old. When their pa found she'd been sleepin' with a worthless musician he said the Good Lord would judge her and he let her go – and then died himself of liquor and a broken heart.

Watching it all, he'd made a vow to himself that'd he'd _never_ be such a man. He wouldn't be dependent on no woman for his happiness, and he would take what he wanted and do what he had to so's he could hold onto it. And as for God, well, if there was a God in Heaven, then He was as bad as his pa wantin' to make a man soft and weak. _He'd_ never be soft and weak.

 _Never._

George walked over to the tree to retrieve his ax. He looked down and saw Bubba was reading. "What you got there?" he asked.

Bubba didn't look up. "It's called 'A Tale of Two Cities', by that fellow Charles Dickens out of England."

The older man was still looking. "Where'd you get it?"

The boy's shoulders tensed, as if he expected a blow. "Miss Beadle gave it to me afore we left Walnut Grove."

"Ain't that the one about that there man who gives up his life for some other no good man?"

Bubba closed the book. "Yeah, that's right, George. Sydney Carton sacrifices himself so another man can live."

"Let me see it."

His little brother hesitated. His hand shook as he handed it to him. "It ain't nothin' to concern yourself with, George. It's just a book."

"I won't have no woman puttin' no soft ideas in your head, boy," he said as his hand closed on the cover. "In this world it is every man for himself. What you want, you take. You hear me?" George laid the book down on the stump he used for chopping. As his little brother watched, he raised the ax and held it over the book. "Sacrifice don't get you nothin' but _nothin'_."

"That ain't what the preacher says," Bubba countered, gettin' mighty high for his britches.

George snorted. They'd been to church maybe twice since they came to Sleepy Eye, and only to put the townsfolk at rest about their souls so they wouldn't keep on coming out and bothering them. "And what does the preacher say, little brother?"

"That Jesus, like Sydney Carton, gave his life for other people – even people he didn't know."

George leaned on the ax and looked at him. "You gettin' religion, baby brother?" he asked, adding menace to the tone.

"No, George. I wouldn't do that. I know how you feel about preachers..."

"And any other self-righteous, nose in the air, highfalutin' churchgoer who thinks he'd better than everyone around him." His eyes narrowed. "Now, you ain't becomin' one of those, are you?"

Bubba shook his head vigorously. "Hell, no, George. Where'd you ever get that idea?"

"'Cause if'n you was, I'd hafta..." he swung out with his arm, taking the boy in the side of the head and driving him to the ground, "...beat it out of you."

The boy lifted his hand and wiped blood from his lip. "Now why'd you go and do that? I ain't no churchgoer. You know that, George!"

George lifted the ax over his head and brought it down, splitting the book in two. As the chunks landed, shedding pages like leaves, he said quietly, "Let's just keep it that way, boy."

A voice rang out as he bent to pick up one half of the ruined book. It was his brother Sam, running and looking flustered as usual.

"George! George! You ain't gonna believe who I seen in town!"

As his brother came to rest at his side, panting and wheezing like a fat man in a race, George dropped the half of the book at Bubba's feet and went to meet him. "And who is that?"

Sam's face twitched. "That there farmer from Walnut Grove. Ingalls."

A tremor ran the length of George Galenders' body, akin to some kind of pleasure. "Ingalls, eh?

"I saw him comin' out of Caldwell's office. They was headin' out to Patch's place."

"Patch ain't gonna tell that self-righteous farmer anythin'. We done taught him not to this mornin'."

"I don't know, George. Old Patch is pretty tough. He don't scare easily."

George kicked at the remnants of the book. "Don't matter no way, no how. Patch ain't got no proof, and what's the word of a washed out old drunk worth anyhow?"

"Ingalls ain't no washed out drunk."

His little brother was yeller. There was no way around it. "You gettin' cold feet, younger brother?" George asked in a leading tone.

"Me?" He laughed nervously. "Me? No way, George. You know I'm right there with you."

He thought a moment. "You said you saw Ingalls with the sheriff?" As Sam nodded, he continued, "Old Caldwell's sharp. I bet he took Ingalls' measure right fast. He's gonna escort that hothead to the edge of town and tell him to be on his way. Now you know, that farmer's gonna get the feelin' Sleepy Eye is a right unfriendly town." His eyes flicked to Sam who was hanging on his every word. "I'm thinkin' we need to go and show him that ain't true. And then we need to pay Mrs. Ingalls a visit and let her know her husband's gonna be late getting home. George bent and picked up a piece of the firewood he had just chopped. As he slapped it against his hand, he added, his tone sinister. " _Real_ late."


	5. Chapter 5

FIVE

"All right, Ingalls, here's your horse. You get on it and get on your way."

Charles was standing with Sheriff Caldwell by the railing near the lawman's office where he had arrived less than six hours before. He'd accepted Caldwell's invitation to dinner and had answered all of his questions about Walnut Grove, his family and work. He knew the lawman was feeling him out, trying to get some idea of what he was thinking. He watched his words and was careful to give nothing away. He'd decided he would ride out of Sleepy Eye far enough that it appeared he was heading back to Walnut Grove, and then he'd double back and seek out the Galenders in the morning. He knew they lived on the outskirts of town and he figured it wouldn't be too hard to find out where. If they were playing the same game in Sleepy Eye as they did back home, half the merchants in the town would have been at their door seeking compensation. He'd watch and wait until he could get one of them alone and then... Charles steadied himself, careful to let none of the immense rage he felt show on his face. Then he'd get the truth out of them – one way or another.

"Ingalls?"

Charles stirred. "Sorry. I'm a bit tired. It's been a long day."

"You find somewhere safe and get some rest."

"Safe?" He wondered why the sheriff used that word.

Caldwell held his gaze. "While we have no reason to suspect the Galenders know you are here, there's nothing to say they don't. From what Patch said it's abundantly clear they mean you harm. And you know, Ingalls, though you're a pain in my side," the sheriff smiled, "I've come to like you."

He held out his hand. "You've been more than fair with me and I thank you for that."

"I'll let you know when I have something solid on the Galenders. I'll need you to come back and testify."

Charles mounted his horse and looked down at the sheriff. He fought to keep the intensity of feeling from his tone as he answered. "I'll be more than happy to."

The sheriff stepped back. "Take care, Ingalls. Say 'hello' to that wife of yours for me and tell her I _expect_ her to keep you out of trouble."

After he bid the sheriff farewell, Charles turned his horse and headed out of Sleepy Eye. He meant to go two or three miles out of town and then find someplace to hole up for the night. As he rode, he thought about the men he had met while in the town. There were times when he despaired, when it seemed most men cared little for others and even less for their own. Men like the Galenders and Patch Parkins. Then he would meet someone like Burt Caldwell who had dedicated his life to the truth and to caring for those he _didn't_ know and he knew hope again.

The truth was, he _was_ weary. So weary he felt like he might fall off of his horse. It had been less than thirty-six hours since the Reverend Alden had told him of the Galenders' evil intentions and in a way, it still seemed unreal. He supposed it was a kind of shock. At first he had felt a rage so deep he didn't know what to do with it – and it was still there – but as the hours progressed and his strength ebbed a different feeling had overcome him.

Despair.

The brown-haired man closed his eyes and let his horse take the lead for a moment, listening to the sound of its hooves beating a steady rhythm out on the dirt road, and to the calls of the wild things about him that were just waking. It was night and a kind of peace lay on the land. All he wanted to do was sleep, but he was afraid to stop too close to the town. Knowing Burt Caldwell, he was riding not that far behind, making certain he didn't turn back.

His horse faltered and Charles' eyes shot open. The animal's head was pitched back toward him and it blew air out of its nose, fluttering its nostrils and letting out a snort in warning. He drew it to a halt and leaned forward to pat the animal's neck .

"Easy, boy." Sitting still, Charles listened again. Most likely it was a wolf or some other creature of the night. When he heard nothing, he gently nudged the horse forward. Whatever it was that the animal had sensed, the snort had awakened him and put him on alert.

Which was a good thing considering what happened next.

The moon was up and its silvery light lit the road before him revealing an overturned wagon. He stopped and looked around and saw a horse standing aside in the brush and what looked like a man laying beside it. Reining his horse in, he considered the wisdom of stopping, but decided that the Good Lord must have put him here to help as it was doubtful anyone else would be passing by this way this time of night. Dismounting, Charles tethered his horse to the twisted branch of a dwarfed Burr Oak and headed for whoever it was that was in need of help.

The strange horse shied as he approached but the man didn't move. Once he got closer, the size told him it was a youth, probably thirteen or fourteen years of age. Kneeling, he put a hand on the boy's back and turned him over.

It was then he knew he was in trouble.

Isaiah Edwards was still muttering into his beard. Halfway to Sleepy Eye his horse had throwed a shoe and he'd had to stop at Burns to get it shod. After that the animal had fought him until it got used to it, hemmin' and hawin' and dancin' around like a Redskin's squaw, and so he was just coming into Sleepy Eye. He was plum tuckered out and had thought to stop and sleep and go into town in the mornin', but there was this pricklin' at the back of his neck – like his hackles was standin' at attention – and he knew there was no way on God's green earth he would rest until they up and decided to go back down.

And that meant findin' Charles.

He was worried about his friend. Worried that he weren't thinkin' straight. Worried that he'd go off half-cocked and get himself into a mess of trouble. Charles was a powerful fighter and strong as an ox, but when it was two or three against one, even the best of men went down for the count. He wished his friend had given him a go at those Galenders after they ganged up on him and beat him near to death, but Charles was a man who had a hard time lettin' others take on his troubles. Grace had said if Charles had a flaw, it was pride, and pride, she said, went before a fall.

Isaiah dropped the reins and let his horse walk apace while he yawned and stretched. Then he scratched the back of his neck. Reachin' over, he had just grabbed hold of his canteen when a noise up ahead caught his attention. Frownin', he released the canteen and used the reins to draw his mount to a halt. When the noise of the horse's hooves had ceased, he leaned in toward the sound and listened.

Someone was takin' a wallopin'.

Dismountin', the mountain man took up his rifle and began to make his way through the woods on foot.

Charles reeled back from another blow. This one had been aimed at his stomach and knocked the wind out of him, driving him to his knees. So far the Galenders had been toying with him, pacing his movements, darting in and out and hammering away at him with their fists. As he knelt on the ground, sucking in air, he knew the wind was shifting.

George Galender had his rifle in his hand and was heading for him, carrying it butt first.

Only moments after he had realized that the man on the ground was no man at all but Bubba Galender, he had sprung to his feet and darted for his horse. Before he could reach it the youngest of the two older Galenders, Sam, had appeared and, standing before it, blocked his way. Before he could react to that two locked fists had come down on his neck from behind. The blow was so hard it jolted the teeth in his head. He had managed to keep his feet and whirled to find George Galender standing there, a sneer curling the corner of his upper lip.

"Right nice of you to come callin', Mister Ingalls," George said. "Saves us a heap of trouble."

He didn't respond. Words were useless and, besides, he needed all of his strength for what was to come.

That was when they started hammering. The blows were withering and it was about all he could do to keep his feet. As it was, he was slowing down. That last hit had been to his lower back and it had been a bad one. Pain radiated between his ribs and hip making him dizzy. Sweat dripped into his eyes, halfway blinding him as well. He tried to follow the elder Galender's movements, but everything was a blur and he was afraid he would pass out.

"Well, come on now, Mister Ingalls. Let's shake and be friends." George came in close and caught him by the collar with his free hand and half-lifted him from the ground. "You ain't lookin' so good. Maybe I'll just go tell that missus of yours that she needs to find herself another man."

Anger fueled him enough that, with unexpected strength, he broke George Galender's hold and drove him back. "Don't...you...dare...mention...my... _wife_ ," he said as he punched him in the face, drawing blood.

"Sam, you get over here!" the coward shouted as he raised the gun.

A second later, Charles felt hands catch his arms and draw them back in a hold. He struggled to get away, but his strength was ebbing .

George came in close. "I won't mention her again, Mister Ingalls, but I will look her up. She's gonna need some comfortin' when she finds out you're _dead_."

Charles braced himself, but the blow from the rifle butt to his side still took him unawares. The world reeled and went black for a second or two.

Far away he heard a voice say, 'Let him go, Sam.'

The pressure on his arms relaxed and he fell flat on the ground. A foot was placed on his back and settled on his ribs, holding him down.

"This ain't the way I wanted it," George Galender sneered as he turned the rifle and lodged it at the base of his neck, "but you know what they say, beggars can't be choosers."

"You gonna kill him, George?" Sam asked nervously. "What about the law?"

George's finger was on the trigger. "A man gets waylaid in the middle of nowhere, who's to say who done it?"

Charles steeled himself.

He was going to die.

As the pressure of the barrel on his neck began to increase, he began to lose consciousness. As he did, he had an absurd thought. It was going to rain. He'd heard thunder.

He really didn't want to die in the rain.

Isaiah lowered his gun. It was still smokin'. He wasn't sure what was happenin ahead, but one thing was for certain, there were three men standin' and one with the barrel of a rifle against his head on the ground and he didn't like the look of the odds. He'd come upon them unawares and fired a warnin' shot. They'd stopped what they were doin' and turned to look his way. The moon was high and it struck the man with the gun and at that moment he knew who the man on the ground was.

It was Charles.

The mountain man moved into the light. Showing his own weapon, he shouted, "You get away from him, you mealy mouth sons of the Devil!"

The one holding Charles down with his foot shouted, "Get your gun, Sam!"

Isaiah's attention was split between George, the one who was threatenin' Charles, and his brother who was headin' for his horse and his gun.

"You hold still or I'll shoot!" he yelled.

"You can't shoot both of us," George Galender sneered. "What will it be? Your friend's life or your own?"

Sam was almost to the horse. For a second Isaiah froze, unsure of what to do. If he shot Sam, George might kill Charles. But if he shot George, Sam would reach his gun and shoot _him_.

Heaven was watchin' out for them both. A second later a strong voice called out. "George. Sam! It's Burt Caldwell. Throw down your weapons!"

Both men stiffened. They exchanged glances. "Bubba," George called. "You out there, boy?" When he got no reply, the eldest of the Galenders stepped back from Charles. "You cain't blame us, Sheriff. This here man took his hand to our little brother and we were just makin' sure he never did it again."

"That's a lie and you know it, George." A man emerged from the underbrush, he was tall and thin and looked like he meant business. "Now tell your brother to put down his gun and you might end up spending a few years in jail instead of hangin' from a rope until you're dead."

Sam Galender panicked. He tossed the gun at his feet and raised his hands. "Don't shoot, Sheriff! I ain't armed."

Isaiah watched the lawman cautiously approach the pair, his gun at the ready. When he got to Charles, he knelt down and placed a hand on his chest.

"He's livin'," he said. "So far you're lucky."

"I tell you, it was him what attacked _us_ ," George Galender said. "A man's got a right to defend himself."

The sheriff rose to his feet and went to stand beside him. "It's over, George. After what you've done to this man, the only place you are going to is –"

Faster than the eye could see, the elder Galender struck out, knockin' the gun out of the sheriff's hand. He hesitated only a second and then took off with his younger brother at his heels.

The sheriff dropped and palmed his weapon. A second later he fired off a warnin' shot and when Sam Galender didn't stop, he shot him.

Sam fell to the ground and lay still.

Isaiah approached with his hands in the air. When the lawman saw him he got to his feet and pointed his weapon at him.

"Who are you?" he demanded.

"Isaiah Edwards, from Walnut Grove." He indicated Charles' prone figure on the ground. "I come lookin' for my friend."

The sheriff considered him a minute. He holstered his gun and then dropped beside Charles again.

"Well, you've found him," he said looking up. "Let's just hope it isn't too late."

Caroline Quiner Ingalls sat straight up in bed and gasped. She looked around, unsure for a moment where she was. Then she remembered she was sleeping beside the bed Carrie and her sister shared in Alicia's Edward's room.

They were away from their home and Charles was away from them.

She sat a moment, waiting on her heart to still, and then rose and went to the door. With a glance back at the girls to be certain they were sleeping, she opened it and went out into the Edward's parlor. It was around midnight and the house was still. She and Grace had talked until about ten and then she had returned to her girls and gone to sleep. A dream – no, a night terror had awakened her. It was fading now. The only thing she could remember was that Charles had been in danger. She'd known it, but try as she might she couldn't help him. Walking over to the window she looked out for a moment thinking about her absent husband and what he was doing, and then went to sit in a chair near the hearth. The fire was low, so she placed another piece of firewood on it and then sat there, staring at the flames. It hadn't been more than ten minutes when she heard a door open and the sound of light footsteps approaching.

Turning, she found Mary standing at her side.

"What's the matter, Ma?" she asked.

"I'm sorry if I woke you, Mary. I didn't mean to. I..." She drew a breath. "I had a nightmare."

"About Pa?"

She could hear the worry in her child's voice. She thought about denying it, but then she remembered that Mary was engaged and soon would have such fears of her own to face.

"Yes," she breathed.

Mary pulled up a stool and sat before her. She reached out and took her hand. "I don't know what I would do if John Jr. was missing, or in danger. I think I'd just crumble."

She reached out and touched her child's hair. This child, who was almost a woman. "It's a woman's lot to wait, Mary. Men get to go off and 'do' and while they 'do', we count the minutes until we see them again, safe and whole."

"Ma..." Mary paused. "I'm...I'm not sure I'm ready to be married. I mean, it scares me."

Her hand went to her child's hair. "I don't know that any woman is 'ready'. There are so many unknowns. Can I keep a house? Can I make him happy? Am I ready to be a mother?" She leaned back and let out a sigh. "I was worried and scared, but you know there was another thing I was that mattered more."

"What was that, Ma?"

"Sure I loved your father, and sure I wanted to be with him the rest of my life." She smiled. "That made up for everything else."

Her daughter considered that. "Well, I'm sure I love John Jr."

"Your father and I know that you do. That's why we gave our consent."

Mary remained silent for a moment. "Don't take this the wrong way, Ma, but in some ways I hope John Jr. isn't like Pa."

She frowned. "Why would you say that?"

"Oh, I want him to be loving like Pa, and a good man and father, but Pa...well, Pa takes risks. And he doesn't listen to you."

Caroline laughed. "Oh, your Pa listens, all right. He listens and then he does what he thinks is best." She looked at her child, so sober, so grown up. "Your life will be different, Mary. John Jr. is a thinker, not a _doer_ like your Pa."

"Do you think that's all right, Ma? To love a thinker?"

She nodded. "The world you are growing up into is very different. A man can live in the city and have a job. He doesn't have to hunt and face daily danger to survive."

"But Pa still does."

"Yes, " she replied, "and I love him for it. As angry as your Pa makes me sometimes, I wouldn't change one hair on Charles Ingalls' head."

"I hope John Jr. and I love each other just like you and Pa do."

Caroline laid her hand on Mary's arm.

"I'm sure you will, Mary. I'm sure you will."

He'd been walking by a lake, enjoying the serenity and beauty, when a sudden storm had come up. Lightning cracked overhead and thunder rumbled, stirring the water even as a steady stinging rain began to fall. It pummeled him as he ran for cover, the large drops driving into the dirt, making the path before him mud. All around him the wind howled. As he ran, he looked for cover, but it seemed there was none to be found. The rain increased and a mist rose from the land, blinding him, making it impossible to see where he was going. It wasn't a minute later he felt the toes of his mule ear boots go over the edge of a hidden precipice. He teetered there, uncertain whether he could pull himself back in time or if instead he was going to plunge over it to his death.

And then he heard his name.

 _Charles_.

Yes, that was him. Someone was calling him. He tried to respond, but fear locked his tongue.

 _Charles, can you hear me?_

He could hear but he couldn't answer. He tried to tell them that but, well, he couldn't answer.

 _Hang on there, buddy. The Doc's here._

Doc?

Reality erupted in a rush of that wind, nearly but not quite taking him over the edge – it came close. His body hurt all over and there was a severe pain in back lower quarter, below the ribs but above the hip. His stomach was cramping as well and he didn't think it was from hunger.

"What...hit me?" he groaned.

"Charles! You're alive!"

He winced. "Is that...what I am?"

"Hang on." The bed jumped as the speaker did too, rising to his feet. "Get in here. He's comin' to!"

Charles hadn't known that his eyes weren't open. He did now because when he opened them he realized he was in a strange small room with white-washed walls and...bars?

Jail?

Someone came in the room. Someone different. When they sat on the edge of the bed it didn't drop so much.

"Mr. Ingalls, how do you feel?"

The voice was unfamiliar. He turned his head to look at the man. He was unfamiliar too.

"Like a...horse kicked me," he said, licking his lips.

"Isaiah, get him some water," the man ordered.

Isaiah? Now, _that_ was familiar.

"Here you go."

Charles felt someone lift his head and place a cup to his lips. He winced when it touched, so something was wrong there too, but he drank the liquid anyhow.

"Thank you," he said as the man lowered him to the pillow.

A hand gently took hold of his face. "Mr. Ingalls, look at me." As he complied – slowly – the man held up his hand.

"How many fingers?"

It took a moment. "Two..."

He felt those fingers on his eyes, prying back the lids.

"I don't see signs of a concussion."

"That's good, isn't it?" yet another voice asked.

"It's good, but it's not his head I'm worried about. From what you told, me, that's more than hard enough. It's that bruising on the back where the kidneys are." The bed moved again as the doctor stood. "He could have internal bleeding."

"How soon will we know?"

"Since the injury is internal, it's hard to tell. Pain is an indicator of trouble, but not really how severe it is. If there's bleeding, it will come out in the urine."

Charles struggled to follow the conversation, as well as the movements of those who spoke. The sound of both eddied around him, rising and falling, coming closer and retreating.

Finally all three moved beyond his hearing and he was alone.

Sheriff Burt Caldwell dropped into his office chair, pulled out the drawer, and planted his feet on its edge. He took his hat off and tossed it on the desk and ran a hand through his graying hair. Then he looked at the rough mountain man sitting in the chair opposite him. His name was Isaiah Edwards and he was a kind of man he recognized – rough, tough, seasoned by life and most likely, in his youth, a hell raiser. Apparently he was a good friend of the man laying in the bed in his cell and seemed to him about as far away from Charles Ingalls in 'kind' as he could have found.

But then friendship was always a mysterious thing.

Burt glanced up as Doctor Sullivan as the older man snapped his bag shut and turned his way. Isaiah Edwards had made about the quickest trip to the edge of town and back to fetch the Doc for his friend that he'd ever seen. The doctor had been at an outlying farm tending to a woman who was suffering from the gout. Burt glanced back at Ingalls who was asleep in the cell. He'd decided to bring him here to the jail for his own safety. Turning again, he looked in the adjoining cell. Sam Galender was there. He'd survived the gunshot wound. Doc Sullivan had tended him too and saved him for either prison or the gallows.

Which one it ended up being depended on two things – whether Ingalls survived and what _George_ Galender did. The eldest of the Galenders – and by his take the _real_ troublemaker – was still missing. They'd had no sign of him or the young one who had drawn Ingalls into danger since the night before.

The thought of that did _not_ leave him easy.

"Well, Burt, I'm ready to go," Doc Sullivan said. "Is there anything more you need from me before I go home and get some sleep?"

Caldwell glanced out the window. It was sunny.

"Isn't it a little early for bed, Daniel?" he said with a smile.

"Not when you started your day with the moon," the doctor replied.

Burt nodded toward the cell. "Ingalls?"

"Wait and see. That's all we can do. Keep him quiet. Don't let him get up for a day or so, and even then he needs to take it easy. Something may yet rupture if he's not careful."

Isaiah was shaking his head. "Ain't gonna happen." At their combined look, he went on. "Charles' family's in danger. George Galender is missin'. Unless you close that door, sheriff, and throw away that there key, there ain't no way you're keepin' Charles down."

The doctor looked at him. "You're his friend. You need to make it clear to him that if he doesn't do as I say I can't be responsible."

"Charles ain't gonna hold you responsible. He just ain't gonna do what you say."

Sullivan looked at the cell as he spoke. "I understand what he feels, but if he dies of a ruptured kidney on the way back to Walnut Grove that will do his family no good."

The mountain man scowled. "Is that a real possibility, Doc?"

The older man shook his head as he headed for the door. "There's no way to tell, Mister Edwards." With that, he inclined his head. "Burt, call me if you need me, but make _sure_ you need me before you do."

The sheriff nodded. "Get some sleep, Daniel." As the door closed behind the doctor, he turned again to Isaiah Edwards. "Isaiah, I can't go to Walnut Grove. I think you should."

"You thinkin' what I'm thinkin'? That Galender is gonna head there?"

"From what you tell me – and what I've seen – George Galender is the very definition of a bully. When I interviewed his brother in there, it was obvious that Sam is a follower. He's lost without George and, I think, harmless. It's my experience that most men who feel the need to intimidate others have been intimidated themselves. They feel powerless and so they seek power."

Edwards seemed skeptical. "That right?"

"I'm not making any excuses for him. What I am saying is that George Galender has fixated on Mister Ingalls, I think in part due to the fact that Charles is a strong, confident, and honorable man. In other words, everything George Galender is _not._ The Doc would tell you that Galender hates himself, and when he looks at Charles, he sees what he could or _should_ have been and wants to wipe it out."

Edwards held his gaze. "Or it could be he's just plain evil and spiteful."

The sheriff let a sigh out and nodded. "Maybe it's the same thing."

"Mister Edwards is right," a young voice said. "George is just plain wicked."

They both turned and were surprised to see a young man with hair the color of wheat and a hang dog look on his face standing in the open door to the jail.

It was Bubba Galender.


	6. Chapter 6

SIX

Caroline Ingalls was standing outside of the door to Isaiah and Grace's house looking east toward Sleepy Eye. It was early afternoon, Carrie was taking a nap, and the children were not yet back from school. She'd asked Grace if she needed help with the chores but her friend, doing as she would have done, had told her she was a guest and she wouldn't hear of such a thing, and so she was left alone with nothing to do but worry about Charles. It had been three days and there had been no word from either him or Isaiah. Charles was forty miles away and it might as well have been halfway around the world. If she had been a man, she could have taken off after him, but as a woman it was her lot to wait, and wait, and wait until the time passing and the rising and setting of the sun nearly drove her mad.

Caroline smiled and looked up toward Heaven. She heard the Comforter speak. _'Wait for the Lord, Caroline, be strong and let your heart take courage. Yes, wait for the Lord.'_

Closing her eyes, she let that truth sink in. It was something she told her girls constantly. She was a little embarrassed that she had to be reminded of a fact that she claimed to live her life by. There were times, and she knew this but did not like to admit it to herself, that she relied too much on Charles' presence to strengthen her and make her life complete. The Lord had given him to her, but He could just as easily take him away. Her hope, her strength had to come from God and these were the times that reminded her of that.

There were a good many widows in Walnut Grove.

"There you go again," she said aloud, but talking to herself. "Really, Caroline."

"Mrs. Ingalls?"

Caroline jumped. Her eyes flew open and she turned to find the blacksmith, Hans Dorfler, standing close by. He was the most recent man from the town to come out and keep watch. Since she saw no horse, he must have walked. With his brawny square frame and powerful arms, he presented a picture of vigor and strength that would make anyone think twice about confronting him.

"Good afternoon, Mister Dorfler. How are you?" she asked.

"Doing well, Mrs. Ingalls." He glanced around. "Where's that little Laura?"

Laura had worked for Hans in order to get her horse, Bunny, shoed. He had been very kind to her. "Oh, she's not back from school yet."

"I see." He paused, and his blue eyes narrowed. "Is someone walking the children here?"

There it was. The notion that she and the children were in constant danger. She did her best to set it aside, but every time they went to do anything ordinary, it arose and turned it around making it _extra_ ordinary.

She nodded. "The Reverend Alden said he wanted to pay a visit and he would be happy to travel with them today."

Hans nodded. "Very wise."

"Have you..." She paused. "Have any of the men seen anything unusual while they have been keeping watch?"

He shook his head. "No."

Caroline drew a breath and let it out slowly. "I feel badly that you and the others have to miss work, and be away from your families in order to watch over us when there may be no need."

The older man looked at her. His tone was serious. "Need or not, it's what neighbors do."

She nodded. "Yes. Thank you."

Hans attention strayed from her. "Here they come," he said, a smile breaking on his deeply tanned face.

She didn't have to look. She could hear the chatter and knew that the girls and Carl were coming home.

Laura arrived first, breathless from running ahead. "Mister Dorfler, it's good to see you!"

The blacksmith stepped forward and laid a hand on her head. "My horse is missing you. Any time you are ready to come clean out more stalls, Laura, you just let me know."

Caroline watched her daughter think that over. "How do you know he's missing me?" she asked.

"Why, he told me so!" Hans replied with a grin.

Laura's brow furrowed. "Your horse talks?"

"Certainly," the blacksmith said. "Oh, he doesn't use words but he snorts and whinnies and strikes his hooves on the ground and lets me know. The next time you come to town, you look me up and we'll go talk to him together and you can see."

Mary had come up with Alicia and Carl. The Reverend Alden was following a few yards behind. "Who are you going to go see?" she asked.

"Mister Dorfler's horse! He's been talking to him."

Her eldest shot her a look and then turned back to her sister. "Mister Dorfler's been talking to his horse?"

"No, silly," Laura countered. "His horse has been talking to _him_."

"Horses can't talk," Mary scoffed.

Caroline had had enough. "If you two have nothing more important to squabble about, then I would say it was best for you to stop squabbling and find something constructive to do. I'm sure Grace can use some help preparing for supper."

In chorus both girls said, "Yes, Ma'am," and scooted off to see what they could do. As they did, the Reverend Alden arrived. He and Hans exchanged a few words and then the blacksmith moved off to make his rounds.

"Good afternoon, Caroline. How are you today?"

"Fine."

He looked at her in that way he had – like he saw right through her. "You're not very good at telling falsehoods." He paused. "I take it there's no word from Charles?"

She wrapped her arms around herself and shook her head. "No."

"When did you expect him back?"

"Oh, not yet. Tonight at the earliest. Maybe tomorrow."

The reverend held her gaze. "So he's not late?"

"No." She frowned. "It's just...a feeling I have that something's wrong."

"Does this have to do with the words Charles and I exchanged after church?"

She dropped her head. "Those men..." she began. "They are _so_ evil. I just know if Charles runs into them they will try to hurt him."

"Is that truly it?" he asked quietly. "Or are you afraid Charles will seek _them_ out?"

That brought an unwanted smile. Again, she nodded. "Maybe a little of that too."

"Charles is a very proud man, Caroline, and you know the Bible warns that pride goeth before destruction. Now, I am not saying Charles is headed for destruction, but you know the Lord will let us take our knocks in order to hone us into the image of His son."

She sighed. That's what she was afraid of.

"Ma?"

Caroline turned toward the house. Mary was standing in the open door with a worried expression on her young face.

"Yes, Mary?"

Her daughter looked from her to the minister and back. "Is something wrong?"

She didn't miss the Reverend Alden's look.

Crossing to her child, Caroline laid a hand alongside her face. "No, Mary, nothing is wrong. We were just chatting."

The blonde girl seemed to consider whether or not she was telling the truth, and then accepted what she said. "Mrs. Edwards said to ask the reverend if he'd like to stay for supper."

The older man smiled. "Tell Grace 'thank you'. I would love to."

Caroline turned toward him. "I should go in and help Grace finish up."

"You do that," he said. "How long will it be, Mary?"

"Mrs. Edwards said about twenty minutes."

"I think I'll go look Hans up. I haven't seen him since last Sunday."

"Oh!" Mary looked embarrassed. "I was supposed to ask him too. Do you – "

"I'll ask him, Mary, and I'm sure we'll both be in."

Caroline came up next to her daughter and took her hand. Mary looked up at her, hesitated, and then asked, "Is Pa all right?"

She patted her fingers. "I'm sure he is, Mary. You know your Pa. He can take care of himself."

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Charles opened his eyes. The sun was just rising outside the window and his beautiful wife was asleep beside him. He laid for some time, listening to Caroline's breathing and to the sound of his house at rest. He heard Jack mutter in his sleep, chasing some rabbit in a dream no doubt, and could hear Carrie chattering to herself as she sometimes did when she first awoke and lay in her bed half-asleep. There was no sound from the loft, but he knew Mary and Laura were there, safe and secure, protected by God and by his own God-given strength.

Life was good.

Gently lifting the covers, the brown-haired man slipped his bare legs over the edge of the bed and planted his feet firmly on the floor. He was in his night shirt, so he reached for his shirt, pants and boots and went with them into the common room of the house in order to dress. Once that was accomplished he grabbed a piece of dry bread from the table and, munching on it, headed for the door. It was a beautiful autumn day outside, crisp but not too cold with just a hint of rain in the air. He headed for the barn, grateful and more than ready for the day to begin.

He'd been at it, tossing hay for the animals and sweeping out the stalls, for fifteen minutes or so when a noise made him turn back toward the house. It was a strange, mournful cry like a little lost lamb makes, bleating for the mother it can't find. Dropping the broom he dashed out of the barn and ran full-tilt toward the house and burst through the door to find his three girls huddled in a terrified pile on the floor. Carries was wailing. Mary looked stunned. It was Laura who looked up at him, tears in her eyes, and spoke the words that thrust a knife through his heart.

"He took Ma! Pa! George Galender took her! She's gone!"

Charles' eyes flew open and he sat up, gasping. Immediately pain shot through his middle section, especially in the back, threatening to drag him back down. He sat there, panting, reconciling the dream he had just awakened from with his own fears. Was his subconscious working out what he dreaded most?

Or, was this a warning?

Closing his eyes again, he focused on his own pain. He remembered someone – a doctor – mentioning a possible injury to his kidneys. The pain was concentrated in his back, low, somewhere between his ribs and his hips. There were other pains too, but they were nothing he hadn't felt before. His injured ribs, which were not fully recovered from the Galender's first attack, were howling in protest.

As he sat there, listening to his body, he heard voices in the outer room. He realized now he was in Burt Caldwell's jail. The sheriff had brought him there to protect him, no doubt, and maybe to make him stay put. He recognized the lawman's voice, but there were two others. A man and...a boy?

Steeling himself, Charles rose and limped over to the cell door. It was open, as was the door between the four cells and the office. Haltingly, he walked the distance between them and leaned on the wall beside the door and listened.

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Burt Caldwell took the chair that normally sat before his desk and turned it around, and then indicated to the frightened young man standing before him that he should sit down. He glanced at Isaiah Edwards, who was staring the boy down like he was sighting along a rifle, and inclined his head toward another chair indicating that he should remove himself a bit and let him do the talking. Grudgingly, the mountain man complied.

"You look tired, Bubba. Can I get you something to eat or drink?" the sheriff asked.

The boy's face twitched. "Maybe some water."

He crossed to his desk, poured a cup, and then came back. After handing it to the boy, he examined him. Bubba was a long lean drink of water with hair like honey and dark narrow eyes. He had the hangdog look of a beaten whelp. There were obvious scars on his face from where he'd been hit with a fist and he would lay money there were dozens more that matched them under the boy's homespun clothes. It went along with his theory that George Galender was the real menace and not his pounded and punched brothers.

Turning another chair around, he faced the boy. "Well, Bubba..."

His tone was, by practice, insolent. "Well, what?"

Burt leaned back. "Son, there has to be a reason you're here."

He was looking at his hands. "I shouldn't be."

"Why not?"

The boy's brown eyes flicked to his face. He mumbled something.

Caldwell frowned. "What was that?"

"I said, George'll kill me when he finds out."

The lawman glanced at Isaiah. He was sitting on his hands to remain still. "That's why you're here, isn't it?" Caldwell's voice was gentle. "This the first time you've ever been alone, boy, without him watching?"

"I been alone before," he protested.

" _Really_ alone?"

Bubba glanced at Edwards and then back. "Is Sam alive?"

Caldwell nodded. "The Doc's seen to him. You worried about Sam?"

He could tell by the boy's expression that he was. "You like Sam, don't you? But you don't like George."

The boy burst out of his seat. "I _hate_ him! He ain't made our lives nothin' but _hell_ and now he's bound and determined to do it again!"

The sheriff waited a moment. "What is George bound and determined to do, Bubba? You tell me."

He looked at Edwards again and this time didn't look away. "George don't like to lose."

The mountain man glanced at him. When he nodded, he said, "You mean when we drove you fellers out of town?"

"He ain't forgot it, I can tell you that. 'Specially not Mister Ingalls." Bubba shook his head. "George wants to make him pay and pay _big_ for what he done to him."

"What about you, Bubba?" Caldwell pressed. "Do you want to make Mister Ingalls pay? Is that why you set him up and helped your brother to nearly kill him?"

"I didn't help! George made me lay down there on the ground. He said he'd _kill_ me if I didn't!" Bubba shook his head. "You ain't never felt his fists, or been beat near to death yourself with a stick. I knew he'd do it!" The boy looked terrified. "I ran for all I was worth when I saw them start to hurt Mister Ingalls. I was runnin' here, to find you, but..." His head went down again and his voice fell to a whisper, "...I was afraid."

"So why are you here now?"

The boy looked at him. "Is Mister Ingalls still livin'?"

Burt nodded.

A shudder ran the length of the boy. "You gotta tell him somethin'. Somethin' from me. George ain't gonna let it rest. He hired that man to burn down their house and now he knows it ain't gonna happen, he's gone there himself to do it – or somethin' _worse!"_

The sheriff watched Isaiah Edwards stiffen. He shook his head slightly. Then he nodded toward the door that led into the cell block. The mountain man got it instantly – if Ingalls had awakened and was listening...

As Edwards moved he turned back to the boy. "Why do you care?"

He watched a war play across the boy's features. A child bred by violence _to_ violence. It seemed – God willing – that perhaps he was beginning to question whether that was right or wrong. His jaw clenched and his fingers formed fists. When he looked up, there were tears in his eyes.

"I hated 'em too at first. Self-righteous, George called 'em. Haughty, lording their faith and their family over us with their high and mighty ways. It was easy believin' what he said. But, well, I guess I knew all along that George was green-eyed. Mister Ingalls is everythin' he ain't." He drew a shuddering breath. "I didn't know my pa, or at least I don't remember him. I'd... I'd hope he was more like Mister Ingalls than George."

Burt Caldwell stood up. As he did Isaiah Edwards appeared in the doorway. The mountain man shook his head, indicating Ingalls was still asleep and had not heard.

Thank God!

The sheriff placed his hand on the boy's shoulder. "Bubba, I'm not arresting you, but I think you should join Sam in the cell – for your own protection."

"George ain't around."

"You don't know that for certain, and even if you did, he could return any time. George has committed several crimes. He's going to go to prison no matter what.' He squeezed the boy's flesh. "You'll be free."

The light of that word shone in the boy's eyes, precious and up to now thought unattainable. "Free?"

Burt Caldwell smiled.

This was one of those days that made it _all_ worthwhile.

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Supper was over and the younger children were bedded down. Grace had gone to bed complaining of a headache. Caroline was working on Charles' shirt again and she looked over it at her oldest girls who were sitting beside her doing their own mending. She'd let them stay up a little later than usual for a school night as she sensed their need to be near her. Tonight, at least, Carrie had dropped into bed and drifted off without any complaints or cries. It tore at her heart to hear her little voice crying for her Pa. The good Lord willing Charles would be home tomorrow with news that would set them free from the need for constant vigilance. It was wearing on a body. It had been hard on her girls and it was certainly hard on her.

"Ma, I can't figure this out," Mary said, rising and coming to her side. Her eldest was setting in a sleeve – not the easiest thing to do. It took practice, a little bit of time, and a lot of patience.

"Here, let me look at it."

As Mary watched her inspect the seams, Laura rose to her feet and walked to the window. She leaned her elbows on the sill and sighed.

Caroline hid her smile. "What's the matter, Laura?"

"I was just thinkin' it's been a _powerful_ long time since anyone called me 'Half-pint'."

"Would you like me to?" she asked as she took a seam ripper and pulled out a part of Mary's work – to her elder daughter's sigh.

"Thanks, Ma. But it ain't the same."

"'Isn't', Laura."

Her girl glanced back at her. "Yes, Ma'am." She paused and then asked the question everyone wanted an answer to. "When's Pa gonna get back?"

Caroline had showed Mary what to do and was handing the sewing back. "He said tomorrow at the earliest. So we have to be patient. You know it takes nearly two days to Sleepy Eye and another two back."

Laura was looking out the window again "You know, Ma, I remember when I was a little girl, I used to think when Pa went away that he'd never come back."

"Really?" She'd never said anything.

Laura looked sheepish. "You know how it is. When you're little, you think if you say somethin' it's bound to come true. I'd sit and look out my window and wait and wait and then suddenly, there Pa would be." She smiled. "It was like Christmas and a birthday all rolled into one." Then she sobered. "You'd think, since he came back that time, that the _next_ time I wouldn't think the same thing – but I did." Laura paused. "Ma, is Pa gonna come back?"

Caroline put her sewing down and opened her arms. "Laura, come here."

It only took a second. Her child ran to her and fell into her arms.

She was sniffing.

Petting her hair, Caroline said, "I'm sorry, Laura."

She looked up at her. "Sorry?"

"Tell the truth. I've made you frightened by the way I've behaved. Haven't I?"

Laura wrinkled her nose. She glanced at Mary. "Well, maybe a little," she admitted.

The Reverend Alden was right. Little eyes were _always_ watching.

She kissed Laura on the forehead and then reached out for Mary's hand. As her eldest came alongside her, she said, "Grownups get scared too. Your Pa is a strong man and able to take care of himself, I know that and so do you. I've seen him face down a bear and he's outrun a pack of wolves."

Laura's little face was turned up toward her. "But the Galenders aren't bears or wolves."

"No. They're not. They are evil men and I will be honest with you, they frighten me." She paused and then brightened her tone. "But you know what?"

"What?" Mary asked.

"There's someone stronger than them who is able to look out for your Pa when he can't."

Her eldest nodded. "God."

"Yes, Mary. God." She looked down at her younger daughter. "Laura, do you remember what Joshua 1:9 says?"

Laura chewed her lip. " _Have I not commanded you? Be strong and courageous. Do not be afraid_."

Caroline finished it for her, reminding herself as much as them of the Lord's promises. " _Do not be discouraged, for the Lord your God will be with you wherever you go."_

"So the Lord's with Pa?" Laura asked.

She smiled as she touched her child's hair. "Always." Caroline drew a breath and let it out slowly. "Now, you two, time for bed."

"Ah, Ma," Mary whined, "can't I finish my sewing?"

"You have school tomorrow. It's already way past your bed time. Come here and give me a kiss."

Mary obeyed and then headed for the room they shared with Alicia.

"Laura."

"Yes, Ma'am." Laura came over to her and kissed her and then gripped her in a tight embrace. "I love you, Ma. God watches over you too, right?"

Caroline placed a hand on her cheek. "Of course. Now off to bed with you, Half-pint!"

Laura laughed. "I love you, Ma."

"I love you too. Now go to sleep!"

Fifteen minutes later the house was quiet. Caroline glanced at the clock. It was ten. Rising, she threw on her shawl and opened the front door and stepped outside. The moon was high. Its argent light turned the grass silver and cast deep shadows in the form of the barn and outbuildings. She frowned, noting an especially deep pool by the privy. Taking another step toward it, she looked for Nels Oleson. He had come out to relieve Hans Dorfler and had said, the last time she had seen him, that he was going to make one last round before settling in for the night. She still felt guilty that the men of the town had to play nursemaid to her. After all, she was a grown woman. But then, it made her feel better to know that the girls were watched over and would be safe – just in case anything untoward happened. Nels had told her to stay inside until he returned, but nature was calling and there was really little else she could do but disobey.

Looking left and right, Caroline made certain the way was clear and then started across the yard.

It was a beautiful night. Stars ringed the moon and the sky behind them was a deep cobalt blue. The air had a touch of a chill, but only enough to make a warm cup of tea sound good. Crossing to the privy, she opened the door and stepped inside, latching it quickly after her. A few minutes later, her business done, she stepped out, closed the door, and turned back toward the house.

It was then someone grabbed her from behind. A large, rough hand was clasped over her mouth and another went around her waist, pulling her close to a man's sweaty, hot form.

She didn't have time to scream.

"Evenin', Mrs. Ingalls," the man said, his voice pitched for her ears alone. "Why don't you and me take a little walk?"

It was George Galender.

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Isaiah adjusted his belt and sighed. Charles had been out like the proverbial light when he checked on him, and so he and the sheriff had taken the opportunity to go across the street to get some food and, of course, a beer or two to whet his wiltin' whistle. Bubba Galender was in the cell next to Charles' with his brother. He weren't quite sure what to make of the two younger Galenders. He'd thought they was pure immoral and godless bullies what had not a speck of decency in them. It seemed at least, about that youngest one, he'd been wrong. The boy'd come to warn Charles about his older brother and what he intended. It were God's luck Charles hadn't been awake. If he'd a heard what that boy had to say, he'd have been off like a shot, bruised kidneys or not. As it was, it was gonna be mighty hard to keep him down for that other day the Doc insisted on. Once he saw the boy, his friend was sure to ask questions. He and the sheriff had discussed it, but they'd decided – short of lockin' him in like the lawman had suggested earlier – there weren't no way to stop him. And he wasn't sure they should. A man had to do what he had to do. Charles family was in danger. It weren't right to stop him.

Isaiah laid back the last of his beer.

He just hoped it didn't kill him.

The sheriff had gone home. It'd been two days since he'd slept anywhere other than the office chair. He'd told the lawman that he'd keep track at the jail and come and wake him first thing in the mornin'. With a smile at the pretty girl what had brought him his drinks, the mountain man rose to his feet and headed for the door. As he stepped out the cool crisp air took the edge off of the beer workin' on him and he came awake. He looked up at the moon and started whistlin' as he walked, enjoyin' his favorite tune of 'Old Dan Tucker' as he crossed the street and opened the door to the jail. He hung his hat by the door and then stepped into the cell block. Charles looked to be curled up on his side. Before going to check on him, he glanced in the Galenders' cell. Both Bubba and Sam were asleep.

Sam was snorin' to beat the band.

Crossin' over to Charles bed he took hold of the chair and sat down by his friend. Leaning back, he closed his eyes. It was, oh, maybe two minutes later that he realized somethin' was wrong. While he could hear the Galenders' snorin' and breathin', he couldn't hear Charles at all. Suddenly frightened, he reached out and took his friend by the shoulder and shook him –

And watched as the blanket fell away, revealing the pillows plumped inside it into the form of a sleepin' man.

Isaiah shot to his feet. He ran to the door and then to the livery stable and banged on the door. It took a minute, but a light appeared and finally, the door opened.

"Can't a man sleep?" the livery owner protested. "You're the second one tonight to come bangin' on my door. What's the all-fired hurry!"

Isaiah's eyes searched the interior for Charles' horse. They were still searchin' when the man's words penetrated the haze left by four beers.

"Second man?"

"You look a sight better than the first. He was shakin' like a leaf and pale as day old paste. I told him he was gonna kill himself and that he should go back home and crawl into his bed. He wouldn't listen. Pushed his way in here and took his horse and took off." The man shook his head. "They'll probably find him layin' on the road dead somewhere tomorrow."

"Did he give you a name?"

The man pursed his lips. "Ingalls, I think. Mean anything to you?"

Yes. Yes, it did.

Charles _had_ been listening and he'd heard everythin' Bubba Galender had said.

He'd gone after George.


	7. Chapter 7

SEVEN

Charles had stopped along the road back to Walnut Grove to refresh his canteen. Or so he told himself. In reality, it was the pain that had stopped him and taken him off his horse and put him on the ground for a time. He hadn't had anything to eat and, between that and the tenderness and throbbing in his middle, he was lightheaded and a little nauseous.

Of course, he wasn't going to let that stop him.

The brown-haired man couldn't shake the terrible dream he had had, of Caroline being taken by George Galender. Since the craven creature had failed to find someone to commit the heinous act he intended of burning down their house – an act calculated specifically to make _him_ pay – he was convinced the bully had set out to do it himself. While Galender probably didn't have the guts to try to burn down the house, taking a single woman, unawares... Charles closed his eyes and fought the wave of panic and fear that rolled over him. Taking a woman was a coward's act and since that was what the man was, it was likely what he would do.

He had to get home before he did.

Rising to his feet, Charles returned to his horse. The animal shied a bit as he did, sensing his weakness. He patted its neck and talked to it, assuring the horse that he was fine and _it_ would be fine and that they needed to get moving. He'd left Sleepy Eye some five or six hours before, taking off the moment the sheriff and Isaiah left the jail. He hated to trick his friend, but he knew both men would be bound and determined to stop him from riding for home for fear that he would injure himself further. They were probably right, but it didn't matter. All that mattered was Caroline. While they were good men, with the best of intentions, they _weren't_ Caroline's husband.

That was him.

God had given her to him and it was his duty to protect her. He was the head of his wife even as Christ was the head of their home, and if it meant laying down his life for her, then that's what he would do. She was the weaker vessel – not meaning she was _less_ in any way. Caroline was stronger than him in _so_ many ways, in her faith, in her stubborn determination and her ability to give him the will to go on. But she was weaker physically and would not stand a chance against George Galender and his...

Charles drew a deep breath and fought the rage and fear within him.

His intentions.

As tears flooded his eyes, he closed them. "God, Father, protect Caroline until I can find her and bring her home."

With that, Charles mounted his horse and took off at the fastest speed the animal could muster toward home.

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Grace Edwards was at a loss as to what to do. She couldn't find Caroline anywhere. She'd risen early before the girls and begun to prepare breakfast. When Caroline didn't show, she'd thought at first that the poor thing was just worn out. Then Carrie had wandered out looking for her ma and when she'd gone to find her, there was no Caroline! She'd rocked the child to sleep and laid her on the settle and then gone back to Alicia's room to look. Caroline wasn't there.

She wasn't anywhere.

She'd wakened Nels Oleson then who had come in around midnight and fallen asleep in a chair before the fire. The look he gave her could have melted the hardest heart. He'd shot out the door and begun to search and had been gone over an hour now. She had no idea what was going on.

Well, yes, she did. But it was too _horrible_ to consider.

Grace's worst worry now was what she was going to say to Caroline's girls when they woke up. She didn't know whether to let them go to school or not. If she kept them home, she would have to tell them, and then they would worry and fret and be frightened – as well they should. The poor things would be terrified with their Pa gone and now their ma missing. If she said nothing and sent them to school with Alicia and Carl, saying their ma had gone back to their house to check on something or some other lie, they could have one more normal day before they had to face the fact that such an evil as the Galenders existed in the world.

But was that _fair?_

Whatever decision she made, it was going to have to be quick. Mary had just walked into the room.

The blond girl was dressed and had her books under her arm. She took them to the bench by the door and left them there. Coming back, she stopped and looker around.

"Where's Ma?"

Grace simply did not know what to say. "Out," she tried.

Mary frowned. "Out where?"

Oh, yes, she _would_ ask that. Grace drew in a breath, asked for forgiveness, and said, "Your mother went over to your house to get something. She told me to get you girls ready and off to school."

The blonde girl mentally shrugged and then headed for the stove where hot oatmeal was cooking. "What'd she go for?"

"She didn't say. Just something she needed."

Mary looked at her. "Do you want me to serve the cereal?"

Grace nodded. As she did, Laura and Alicia appeared, followed fast by Carl. Mary waited until they were seated and then came to the table with four bowls and put them down. Even as she did, Carrie woke up and joined them.

As her sister took a seat, Laura looked around. "Where's Ma, Mrs. Edwards?"

"Where's Ma?" Carrie echoed.

"Ma went back to the house for something," Mary said as she spooned the cereal into both their bowls.

Laura leaned in and took a deep whiff. "Cinnamon! Mrs. Edwards, you put cinnamon in the oatmeal!" She tasted it, her eyes going wide. "And brown sugar..."

It had been meant as a treat. For Caroline too. She loved cinnamon.

"You enjoy it, Laura." Crossing to the door, Grace looked into Alicia's room. Moving back toward the door, she said – as casually as she could – "I'm going to step outside to the privy. You eat your cereal and be ready to go when I get back."

A chorus of 'yes, ma'ams' answered her.

Stepping out of the door she pulled it to and then leaned against it, overcome.

What could have happened? How and _why_ had Caroline made herself vulnerable? Where was she? Grace drew a breath against the possibility.

Was she _alive?_

As she stood there, gathering herself together, Nels Oleson came walking toward the house. He had a piece of cloth in his hand. As the thin man drew close, she recognized it as Caroline's shawl.

"I found it near the outhouse," he said.

Dear God! Not something so simple.

"But there's no sign of Caroline?" she asked.

He looked sick. "The ground shows a struggle. There's a man's boots." He drew in a breath. "I followed them into the woods until whoever it was mounted a horse and rode away."

She looked over her shoulder at the house. "I haven't told the children."

He nodded. "That's for the best. There's nothing they can do. Best to let them go to school." He sighed. "I'll take them in and then gather the men and organize a search party." Nels passed a hand over his eyes. When he spoke again, it was with defeat. "Dear God. I've let Charles down."

Grace went to the agonized man and put a hand on his shoulder. "She must have been gone before you came in, otherwise you would have heard her go out." She paused and waited until he looked at her. "Nels, there was nothing you could have done."

His eyes were wet. He nodded and said, "You had best get inside or the children will get suspicious."

"Yes." She sniffed and wiped away a tear of her own. "Please tell the reverend when you get to town. Please, ask him to pray."

He squeezed her hand. "I will."

As she watched Nels walk toward the barn where they kept their wagon, his shoulders slumped under the burden, the door opened behind her. Turning quickly, she acted as though she had been startled reaching for the knob.

It was Carl. "Ma, we were wondering where you were."

"Now, young man, when a lady goes to visit the privy it's not polite to ask questions."

He looked abashed. "Yes, Ma. Sorry, Ma."

She kissed her son on the head. "It's fine No harm done. Now go inside and get your books, it's time to head to school. Mister Oleson is getting the wagon ready."

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"That dad-burned blasted stubborn-as-a-mule _pig-headed_ farmer!"

Isaiah Edwards grizzled eyebrows peaked. Danged if the sheriff hadn't beat him to it! "That's Charles," he said with a wrinkle of his lips. " _Stubbornest_ man I know."

"Most _foolish_ man you know, you mean! Doesn't Ingalls realize he's going to kill himself before he ever finds George Galender. Or, if he doesn't kill himself, in the condition he's in – Galender will do it _for_ him!"

"Kind of makes you mad that you care, don't it?" he asked with a little smile.

Burt Caldwell stopped in his pacing to look at him. He shook his head. "I have to admit, the man has a way of getting under your skin."

"Kind of an itch you gotta scratch, right?"

The sheriff snorted. "How long have you two been friends?"

"Let's see, it's nigh onto four years now. Met him back in Kansas and made his acquaintance again a few years back." Isaiah winced. It was hard for him to admit and even harder for him to be serious, but... "Best man I know," he said quietly.

Burt Caldwell sat on the end of his desk and ran a hand over his face. He glanced at the two Galender brothers in their cell and then back to the door. "He can't be moving too fast, not in the condition he's in. If we leave now –"

"We?"

The lawman met his skeptical gaze. "George Galender is _my_ responsibility, not Ingalls'. He's wanted for more than one crime and I intend to take him."

Isaiah nodded, not fooled in the least. He inclined his head toward the Galenders. "Who's gonna watch those two?"

"I've deputized two men. They'll do it in shifts until we get back." He looked at the sleeping men. "I don't think they are much of a threat without George." The sheriff rose and headed for his gun, which hung from a peg on the wall. As he fastened it around his hips, he said, "If we ride good horses and ride them fast and hard, we ought to be able to overtake him before he reaches Walnut Grove."

The mountain man considered it. "Maybe. But that Charles, he's slipperier than a wet fish in buttered hands when he's got a mind to not be stopped."

The sheriff's brows went up. "A wet fish in buttered hands? My, we do wax poetic."

Isaiah started to nod. Then he said, "What? You makin' fun of me."

Burt Caldwell laughed. "Never. Now come on. The sooner we mount up, the sooner we stop your friend from doing something imprudent."

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Charles figured, if anyone chose to follow, that he was about three hours ahead of them. He had stopped again, this time to relieve himself, and just gotten back to his horse. He took the saddle horn in hand and leaned against the animal for a moment, resting his arm on its withers. It shifted and snorted, once again uneasy, sensing that he was not completely in command. The sun was coming up and the new day was dawning. He'd been able to see the urine stream as it came out of him.

It had been tinged a deep pink.

He didn't know much about internal injuries, but he did know that blood in the urine was a sure sign of them. He remembered Doc Sullivan's words. The beating he had taken, and especially the blow to the lower back, might have injured one of his kidneys, the older man had said. He remembered too that the doctor had warned that if he didn't take it easy and go slow and the kidney was lacerated, it might rupture. He didn't know for certain that anything had happened to Caroline. It was simply a deeply compelling and intuitive feeling that something _had_. If he pressed on and did further harm to himself – if the kidney burst and he _died_ – he might be leaving Caroline a widow and the girls fatherless for no good reason other than an inability to set aside his own stubborn pride.

Charles fingers clutched the animal's mane. Tears entered his eyes. "God, what am I supposed to do?" he whispered. "Caroline is my life. I can't...live without her. If she's in danger, tell me what to do – how to save her. Give me a _sign_."

It wasn't exactly a sign, but for a second he saw her in his mind's eye, coming out of the Big Woods, smiling at him and holding out her hand. Caroline looked like she had when he first met her, pretty as a picture and twice as sweet. She looked so young, _so_ vulnerable. As she advanced toward him, he heard the words that had been spoken over them as they stood hand-fasted, joining their lives together.

' _For this cause shall a man leave father and mother, and shall cleave to his wife: and they twain shall be one flesh. Wherefore they are no more twain, but one flesh. What therefore God hath joined together, let not man put asunder.'_

Let no _man_ put asunder.

Charles jaw tightened and a steely resolution entered his eyes.

 _No man_. And that included George Galender.

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Caroline Ingalls cowered in the corner of the abandoned log cabin George Galender had taken her to. He had forced her onto his horse and carried her off into the hills near Walnut Grove, taking her back to the place where he and his brothers had lived. All she could guess was that he thought it was the last place anyone would look for them. He had tied her hands and shoved her into the corner and then set about packing items that would be needed for a longer trip. It was apparent he had no intention of staying here. He was going to take her somewhere far away from Walnut Grove – far away from Charles and her girls – and then... Then...

She closed her eyes, fighting against panic. It would do her no good. Before George Galender was finished, before he came for her, she had to escape.

Somehow, she _had_ to escape.

As she laid there, cramped and uncomfortable, she'd considered what to do. The wisest course might be to play along with him, to pretend she was happy to be with him and wanted to...make him happy. She knew he thought more highly of himself than anyone else and was sure he would believe she wanted to be with him. Still, that was a lie, and lying was wrong even if it was for the right reason. Besides, she loathed him and she was sure she was not a good enough actress to make him believe otherwise. That left being as meek and submissive as she could be, trying not to anger him until someone showed up, or – or, until _she_ could fight for her honor and her life. She'd noticed George was stumbling some as he moved about the cabin and she thought she had smelled liquor on his breath. Apparently he'd sought courage in a bottle. That meant _two_ things, his edge was dulled, but also that he might be quicker to anger. She thanked God that she had a husband who didn't take spirits. It had been the ruin of many a man and marriage.

Galender had halted in what he was doing. His body stiffened and he walked quickly to the window and looked out. It was then Caroline heard it – the sound of wagon wheels.

Someone was coming!

Quicker than a rabbit he was at her side. George's one hand covered her mouth, while the other encircled her throat. The smell of his breath was sickening as he whispered close by her ear, "You keep your mouth shut, Mrs. Ingalls, if you want to live to see another day."

Caroline shuddered from head to toe. Her breath came in quick little gasps. Who could it be? Why would they be at the Galenders' old place? Impossible as it was, she yearned for it to be Charles – and then she didn't. She remembered what George Galender had done to him before and knew, this time, that Charles would be so filled with rage that he might do something foolish and get himself killed.

The sound of wheels halted outside the door. Caroline heard a man speaking to his animal. She couldn't catch the words, but the man sounded completely normal. She heard the sound of water being drawn from a trough and then horses whinnying. A moment later there was a slap and the team rolled off again.

"You better be grateful that wasn't your man," George threatened. "I got me a gun and he would have been stone cold dead." As Caroline shivered, he pulled the hand back from her throat and lowered it toward her neckline. "You're soft, just like I remembered, Mrs. Ingalls, and twice as pretty."

She held very still. It was all she could do to abide the touch of another man's hands on her, but she was determined this time not to let him get the better of her. She'd become hysterical and gone running and crying to Charles the last time and it had only gotten him hurt. If she'd learned anything from the time she had been left at home alone and injured herself and almost died, it was that her survival was not in man's hands, but in the Lord's.

' _Dear God,'_ she thought, ' _protect me. Help me to find a way to escape. Help me find my way back to Charles.'_

His hand went to her hair and then it lifted as he stood up. George Galender stumbled over to the window and looked out. "Too exposed here," she heard him say. "Need to get moving." Caroline watched him as he staggered over to the corner and lifted up a floorboard. "Good old Sam," she heard him snort. "Always trying to keep it from me."

When George stood up he had a bottle in his hand.

The man's damnation might prove her _only_ salvation.

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"He passed through here," Isaiah said as he stood up and looked at Caldwell. He'd been on the ground reading the signs by the rising light. "Seems to me he's slowin' down."

The lawman came alongside him. He nodded toward the west. "He's still a good two hours ahead of us. Plenty of time for a man to find trouble."

They figured Charles had pulled out of Sleepy Eye around eight, since that was when they'd gone to supper, so's he'd been on the road close to ten hours. That would put him almost home if he'd ridden straight through. It also meant he had to be on his last leg and moving on pure grit and cussedness – a sure recipe for a man to make a mistake.

"Charles don't need to find trouble, trouble has a way of findin' him," Isaiah said, shakin' his head. "You know, I been thinkin'."

"Yes?"

"Well, we're headed for Walnut Grove, right?"

"Of course. We're following Ingalls."

"Maybe we're followin' the wrong feller."

The sheriff thought a moment. "You mean we should be following Galender instead? And if we find George Galender, maybe we'll find Charles too – and be able to help him."

He nodded.

"But we have no trail."

They'd looked for it, but Galender had been on foot at the beginning and there'd been nothing to find. "You know, I did a lot of runnin' and hidin' in my life." He looked at the lawman. "Not 'cause I needed to, but 'cause I wanted to. The first place I usually went was the last place most folks looked."

The sheriff nodded. "I must be getting old. Of course! The purloined letter."

The mountain man frowned. "You know, Burt, you say the most _goldarned_ odd things."

Caldwell laughed. "It's a story by Edgar Allen Poe. There's a letter everyone is hunting. In the end it turns up it was hidden in plain sight."

"That there Poe fellow's right smart."

"So you think we should start where they Galenders lived, outside of Walnut Grove?"

"Knowin' Charles, that's where he'll head. And I'm thinkin' meetin' him there may be easier than stoppin' him from goin' there."

The lawman considered it. "All right. But you know if you're wrong, it could mean his life."

Isaiah nodded. He weren't a prayin' man, but he whispered a few quick words tellin' God what he'd like, and then he mounted his horse and the two of them rode off into the dawning light.

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It was late morning when Charles arrived at the Edwards' home. He was exhausted and barely able to keep his feet. Only a steely will kept him moving, driving him forward, compelling him on until he either found out that Caroline was safe and his intuition had been wrong, or it had been right and George Galender had her and it was up to him to find her and bring her home. His body ached, near enough to stop him in his tracks, but he ignored it as he dismounted and limped toward Isaiah's door. As he raised a hand to knock, he heard someone gasp and turned to find Grace coming out of the barn.

"Charles!" she called out as she ran toward him. "Dear Lord, Charles, what did they do to you?"

Her sympathy hit him like a hand, threatening to drive him to his knees. "Caroline," he breathed, catching hold of her shoulder, "where is she?"

Tears entered the blonde woman's eyes. "Oh, Charles..."

Then it was true. Dear God, it _was_ true. Galender had her. "How long?" he asked.

"We're not sure. For some reason, she went outside by herself sometime before Nels came in. So sometime before midnight."

Eight or nine hours then. His wife had been in that monster's hand for eight or nine hours. Releasing Grace, he headed back toward his horse.

"Charles, no! You have to stop," she said, following him. "I don't know what happened, but it's obvious you're hurting. Nels is in town right now organizing a search party. Stay here. Rest until they come."

He shook his head. "I can't , Grace. You _know_ I can't. He...has her. You know what that man tried to do before." There were tears in his eyes but he denied them. "There's not a minute to spare."

"Where will you look? How will you even begin to track them?"

Charles paused. He gathered his strength and then swung into the saddle. "I'll start where it all began, at the Galender's old place. George is craftier than a fox. It's the one place he would think no one would look."

Grace came up to the horse. She caught hold of the bridle and looked up at him. "Charles, I know you feel you have to go, but think about what you are doing. Caroline is...well... If something happens to you _both_..." She winced. "What about the girls?"

His jaw tightened. He saw their faces – Mary, Laura and Carrie – all looking up at him, filled with love, counting on him to watch over them and keep them safe. Then he saw Caroline – terrified, sobbing, looking to him to _save_ her.

Charles swallowed over the fear of the unknown. "Take care of them, Grace," he said.

And was gone.

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Nellie Oleson was being her usual self. A self-centered, self-serving _brat_. Mary Ingalls looked over at her sister and made the statement she had made a hundred times – maybe a _thousand_ since coming to Walnut Grove.

"Ignore her, Laura. Come on, it's time to get back to the school room."

The two of them were facing off. Nellie had her arms crossed over her chest and was leaning back. Laura's hands were anchored on her hips and she was leaning forward. Nellie was mad because her pa had taken a strop to her for listening in on adult's conversation, and for what she said about Pa and him not coming back and them being orphans. Laura was mad because she had just said it again, adding this time that her pa had come in real late and she'd heard him talking to her Ma and the men in the town were organizing a search party so it must be true – their pa was _dead_ and they were going out to find the body.

Of course, Mary wanted to punch her too. But that wouldn't be proper for someone who was engaged and who was going to be an adult themselves in a year and a half.

But, boy, she _really_ wanted to punch her!

"You take that back, Nellie Oleson!" Laura shouted and then, before she could stop her, her little sister shoved Nellie, knocking her to the ground.

Nellie went off like a firehouse alarm.

"You can shove me all you want, Laura Ingalls, but it won't change the truth! Your Pa's _dead_ and you know it! That's why you're being so mean to me! You just can't stand to hear the _truth!"_

Mary knew what came next. Unfortunately, she didn't move fast enough to prevent it. Laura dove headlong and the two girls began to roll in the dust kicking and crying and screaming.

"Laura!" the blonde girl shouted as she dove in to try to separate them and got a kick in the stomach from Nellie for her troubles. Grasping her stomach and backing off, Mary yelled, "Laura Ingalls! You're gonna be in so much trouble when Ma hears about this. Laura!"

All of a sudden a bell rang out and Mary looked up to see Miss Beadle standing at the top of the church steps waving her hands. She was yelling something she couldn't hear over Laura and Nellie's fight and heading their way.

Mary tried again to grab her sister. She managed to catch her by the collar. "Laura! Miss Beadle is coming. Stop!"

Laura looked at her. It was strange. Her sister didn't look mad or upset or worried.

She looked scared. _Really_ scared.

Laura brushed her hand away and rolled to her feet. Nellie did the same and then headed straight for Miss Beadle to tell her side of the tale first. For a second Mary's attention went to her as she listened to Nellie lie and lie and lie.

When she turned back, Laura was nowhere in sight.

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Laura ran as fast and as far and as hard as she could, sticking to the trees so nobody would see her. She told herself she was running from Nellie and the punishment Miss Beadle would hand out for them fighting, but that was a lie. She was running from Nellie's words, trying to put distance between herself and them – trying to forget them and the very real possibility that what her worst enemy had said might be true.

She'd seen her Pa sick, though it didn't happen very often, and so worn out with worry he wanted to quit. She'd seen him so tired he sat on the bed and pitched over backward and was asleep before any of them could believe it. And there'd been that time he fell out of the tree when he went up to get the kite. She'd never been so scared in all her life.

Until now.

Laura halted, breathing hard. She was outside of town, about halfway to the Edwards' home. She wanted to run right past it to their own little house. She missed it and wanted more than anything for Pa to come home and all of them to go back to their house and the life they lived there. Why did people have to be so mean? Why would the Galenders want to hurt Pa or _any_ of them? Laura closed her eyes to shut out the memory of Mister Edwards bringing Pa in that night after the Galenders had beat him so bad. He hadn't even looked like Pa, his face had been so swollen and bruised. She and Mary had heard their Ma say late in the night when she thought they were asleep that those mean old men had near _killed_ him. What if they did that now?

What if Nellie was right and the Galenders _had_ beat Pa to death?

Laura's eyes flooded with tears. She knew what the Bible said, that people didn't really die but went right on living up in Heaven with Jesus and God. People'd be all sad and solemn and cry at funerals and then cling to that. But you couldn't cling to something like _that_ like you could to a real person who was here. Her whole body shook from head to toe when she thought she might never feel her Pa's arms around her again. She couldn't imagine it. Almost couldn't _breathe_ even thinking about it.

Sitting on the ground, Laura locked her hands together, closed her eyes again, and bowed her head. "Dear God," she whispered, "please let Pa be okay. Please don't let those mean old Galenders hurt him. _Please_ bring him – "

Laura's eye popped open. Someone was coming – and coming fast! She stood and backed into the trees, concealing herself, just as a man on a horse came into view. He was hunched over in the saddle like he was hurting and was moving like lightning, racing toward Walnut Grove. She didn't recognize the horse, so she thought it was a stranger until he was on her and flying past.

Then she realized it was her pa!

Laura stepped out into the road and shouted and waved her arms and jumped up and down, but Pa didn't see her. Almost as quickly as she had seen him, he turned a corner and was out of sight. The little girl frowned. Pa always said that a man in a hurry made him nervous. Most likely it meant something was wrong.

A pit opened in her stomach. That morning, when they left for school, Mrs. Edwards had told them Ma had gone to the house to get something, even though Pa had told them all to stay away and Ma never did anything Pa told her not to.

Mrs. Edwards had fibbed.

Laura looked down. Pa's tracks were fresh and the only ones on the road.

She began to run.


	8. Chapter 8

EIGHT

Caroline sat motionless. She was still in the Galenders' cabin. George Galender had taken to drinking and so far had done nothing about moving on. She'd watched him down almost the entire bottle of whiskey he had pulled from under the floorboards. The last time he had stirred and come over to check on the ropes that bound her hands, he had reeked of alcohol and been unsure on his feet. All of that was for the good when it came to an escape attempt, but she knew from experience that men who drank could turn on a five cent piece and become unreasonable or mean or, even worse, violent. She'd held her peace and tried to be cooperative so far, waiting for an opportunity to run.

She thought it might have just come.

George had returned to the table and sat with his head down looking at his hands. She had no idea what he must be thinking, though the fact that he was alone might indicate some sort of rift between the brothers. Maybe the other two disapproved of his scheme to pay Charles back since it entailed murder. Or maybe they were just afraid of the consequences if they did comply. For whatever reason George seemed to be doing a lot of thinking. Of course, there might be another explanation.

He might be working up his courage to commit some other act.

Caroline shuddered. She drew in a breath and held it against the chill that coursed through her and then let it out slowly. It was only by God's grace, she knew, that she had not been accosted. Even though she doubted there was one whit of decency in the man sitting at the table, it seemed – as it was with most bullies – that he was all brute strength and bluff. He lacked the courage to do what he boasted.

That's why he had hired another man to burn them out, and that's why he sought the courage he lacked in a bottle.

The blonde woman watched as George Galender slumped forward. Caroline held her breath and counted to sixty. By forty-five, he was snoring loudly. Her eyes went to the door. George had dropped the bar inside and it was latched. There was no way she could open it without making a little noise, especially as she would have to do so with her hands tied together. She looked at the back door and thought it might offer a better prospect. Though it was latched, it was not barred, and any sound she made would be farther away.

The problem was, she had to by George to get there.

After another count of sixty, Caroline rose to her feet. Fortunately, her kidnapper had not bound them as well. With a prayer on her lips that God's angels bear her up in their arms so she didn't dash her foot on anything, she began to make her way across the room. George Gallender shifted once as she passed by, but he didn't wake up. He muttered something and then his head fell even lower to the tabletop. Holding her breath, Caroline made her way to the rear door and then turned her back toward it. It was awkward, trying to open it with her hands bound together, but she managed it at last with just the smallest _click_. George shifted again at the sound, but there was no other movement as she quietly opened the door. Stepping out, she hesitated a moment and then turned and backed into it, closing it as best she could. The air was crisp and she feared that if it struck the man on the table, it might rouse him.

Once outside, Caroline paused briefly to gather strength and then headed for the barn and the horse she had seen George Galender stable there.

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Charles left the road as he approached Walnut Grove. He had heard men's voices as he neared the final bend before Hansen's Mill and had urged his mount into the trees and waited until they passed. He had no doubt they were headed to the Edwards' place. Grace had said Nels was in town gathering men for a search party and Nels was at the head of this group. Lars was there and Hans Dorfler, as well as many of their other neighbors and friends. They were good men. They meant well. There was even a moment where he thought he should ride out of the trees and let them know he was there, but it faded quickly in the face of the reality of a man like George Galender. Like a rabid animal, if cornered, the bully would strike out with everything that was in him, desperate to survive. He couldn't chance him turning on Caroline.

He had to go alone.

After the men had disappeared around the bend, he urged his mount back onto the road and sat thinking for a moment. The Galenders lived past where the church was located, to the west and north of town. There were back trails leading to that area and though the going could be rough, if he traveled as the crow flew he would gain some time. Charles closed his eyes for a moment, assessing his condition. His lower back ached like there was no tomorrow and the muscles of his stomach seemed to have clenched and refused to let go. It was kind of like having an ague of the stomach. He was lightheaded at times, more from hunger than anything else, but so far had managed to keep his seat.

If it came to a fight – and he was sure it would – he'd do his best. God promised to give you what you needed when the time came. He was counting on that. That, and his love for the woman George Gallender threatened.

He'd tear the man apart if he'd so much as touched a hair on her head.

Gathering his strength for the final push, Charles turned his horse's nose to the west and left the road.

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

As Caroline entered the barn she glanced back toward the house. When she saw no sign of movement, she entered the somewhat decrepit building and approached the equally run-down horse housed there. She wanted to take time to free her hands, but felt it was unwise. She _could_ ride with them tied together, though doing so on a bareback horse was not going to be the easiest of accomplishments. She'd have to catch hold of the animal's mane and hold on tightly in order not to fall.

Still, she told herself, desperate times called for desperate measures.

The animal shied a bit as she approached, but as she spoke in soft, soothing tones it quieted and actually nudged toward her. _Poor thing!_ she thought. It was probably as mistreated as everyone and everything else the Galenders came into contact with.

"Easy, girl," she said as she looped a simple bridle she had found laying nearby over the Breton's nose and worked the bit in-between its teeth. She knew from Charles that talking to a horse was a very important thing as was reassuring it and so, in spite of her need for haste and the fear pounding through her veins, she did. "That's a good girl," she cooed as she began to lead it out of the stall. "What's say you and I go for a ride?"

The horse nickered softly as it took a step forward and nudged her. Caroline recognized the touch of a mother to child and was moved. Catching the dangling lead with her fingers, she walked it out of the barn and then turned and prepared to mount.

"Well, lookee here. Looks we got us a woman who ain't grateful for what the Good Lord done brung her to," a soft sinister voice said.

Every muscle in Caroline's slender frame went rigid as George Galender stepped out from behind the open barn door. He had a short rope in one hand that he was slapping against the other.

"Looks like it's up to me to teach her some appreciation of what she got."

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Laura picked herself up from the road. Her face was streaked with tears and painted in a mixture of dirt and blood. She had fallen so many times in her headlong sprint to follow her father that she had cut her lips and her cheeks in several places and blood ran down them to stain the collar of her dress, ruining it. Her stockings were torn too and she'd lost her shoes long before, and still she ran for all she was worth, calling out, "Pa!, Pa! It's Half-pint, Pa! Wait for me!"

Wait for me.

But he hadn't waited and he hadn't heard and Nellie Oleson was going to be right after all. The Gallenders were gonna kill Pa and then Ma, and she and Mary and Carrie were gonna be orphans.

Laura halted, her sides aching, barely able to draw another breath. She drew a big old gasp of air through her nose and got so dizzy she had to sit down. Just as she fell to the dirt, she heard the sound of voices and a wagon rolling and men on horses. They were thundering down on her.

She was in the middle of the road! They were gonna run her down!

Jumping up, Laura fought to keep from falling again and then stumbled off the road just as a group of maybe a dozen men appeared and moved past, riding as fast and as hard as they could out the ridge road toward the Edwards' home.

Laura was standing, watching them, unable even to call out when a strange thing happened. The man at the back – Mister Dorfler – reined in his horse and turned back in the saddle to look behind. She saw him turn to Mister Hansen who was beside him and point.

And then, completely exhausted, Laura fell down and didn't get up again.

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Grace Edwards heard a horse neigh just outside the house. It was just about the last straw. She had a household of frightened, grieving children and was about at her last wit as to how to comfort them. Laura and Nellie Oleson had gotten into a fight and Laura had gone missing. Thinking there was nothing to it more than a childish spat, the teacher had questioned Nellie. Alarmed by what the girl told her she had gone to Mary, never thinking that what she had to say would send Mary, with Carrie in hand, flying back to her to find out what the truth was about their ma and pa. Mary had confronted her face to face with the information Nellie had. She had to tell the child the truth. Grace let out a shuddering sigh as she headed for the door.

How do you tell a child her mother has been kidnapped by a man who earlier threatened her harm, and her Pa has gone after a man who might kill him?

Carl and Alicia had come home shortly after that. Mary and Carrie were inconsolable. They were doing their best but as children will be, her two were thinking more of themselves and less of the Ingalls' children and of what they would do if it was _their_ ma and pa who were missing and in danger.

The Ingalls' children. If...if the worst happened, they would be hers.

Drawing a steadying breath, Grace headed for the door. She opened it to find a stranger dismounting. The man was thin as a rail and wore a black suit with a hat that smacked of the city. He looked exhausted.

Stepping off the porch, she asked, "Can I help you?"

The man tipped his hat. "Mrs. Edwards?"

She closed the door behind her. The children were in Alicia's room but still, she didn't want to take a chance that they would hear anything – untoward.

"Yes."

"My name is Burt Caldwell. I'm the sheriff at Sleepy Eye."

The words nearly caught in her throat. "The...the sheriff?"

He held up a hand. "Forgive me, I don't mean to frighten you, I have been traveling with – "

"You find out yet whether Grace has seen Charles?" a familiar and beloved voice spoke from off to the side. Grace turned and there...he...was.

"Isaiah!" she cried and flung herself at him.

He held her tightly. "Now, now Grace. Hang in there. I'm here now."

As she sobbed against his shoulder, the distraught woman heard her husband say, with that wry twist to his voice.

"I'm guessing Charles' has been here."

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Laura groaned. Strong hands held her close and someone was whispering in her ear. She tried to open her eyes, but a thick crust nailed them shut. "Pa?" she whispered.

"Laura, it's me. Hans Dorfler. Child, can you look at me?" There was a pause and then. "Here. Give me that."

A second later coolness washed over her eyes along with a wet cloth.

"Laura?"

She blinked and the crust gave way. Opening her eyes, Laura looked up into the tough but compassionate face of Walnut grove's blacksmith. "Mister Dorfler?"

Another man knelt beside her. She recognized his voice by his accent. It was Mister Hansen, the man her pa worked for.

"Laura, what are you doing out here?" he asked.

"I was... I was..." She was still out of breath. "Pa... I saw Pa..."

The two men exchanged a glance.

Another man knelt by her. She recognized him as he asked. "You saw you father? Laura, what way was he headed?" Nels Oleson asked.

She shifted a little in Mister Dorfler's arms so she could point. "That way, toward town."

Mister Hansen rose to his feet. "Vhy would Charles head to town? I vould think he would have gone to Edwards' home to look for his wife."

"Unless he already did," Hans said, still holding her. He paused and then added, his voice sure of it. "He's heading for the Galenders old place."

Mister Hansen struck his head. "Vhy did we not think of that? The last place George Galender would think we vould look for him would be that old cabin!"

"Dear God!" Nels said. "We have to get there. Now!"

Laura had been listening to the men. She reached up and touched Mister Dorfler's face. "Do the Galenders have my Ma?" she asked, her voice hushed with fear.

The blacksmith caught her hand and squeezed it. "We don't know, child, but it's what we fear."

More tears streamed down her cheek, mingling with the mud and blood. "Then we gotta go! We gotta go now! That mean old bully is gonna kill my ma and pa!"

Mister Oleson reached out and touched her arm. "Laura, your Pa can take care of himself. Never you mind what that spoiled child of mine told you. He'll save your ma."

"I gotta go!" she said, struggling to rise. "I gotta go too!"

"Laura, no. It's too dangerous You – "

Mister Hansen put a hand on Mister Oleson's shoulder.

"Nels, the child has every right. She has done her share to save them both. Let her come." The older man held out his hand. "Laura, you can ride vith me."

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Charles was racing through the trees toward the Galender's former spread in much the same way he had after Caroline had reluctantly confessed to him that the two men put their hands on her and would not let her go. He thought he was about a half mile out and every foot, each second was agony. A righteous fury possessed him now as it had then. It was one thing for a man to bully another man – even to beat him to within an inch of his life – but there was _nothing_ more despicable than a man who would bully and abuse a defenseless woman.

Nothing.

Charles looked down at his horse. Its head was down and its sides were heaving. There was foam forming where the reins were in contact with its neck. He had driven it mercilessly. The poor animal was as worn out as he was and it he had been all he could do to coax the last amount of strength out of it to bear him to his destination. It was time to stop and go on foot. His approach would be more silent that way. If Galender was there – and he _did_ have Caroline – the last thing he needed to do was alert the bully to his approach. There was no telling how he would take his anger and rage out on Caroline.

Dismounting, Charles patted the animal on the neck. He wished he had time to rub it down but he simply didn't. Instead, he reached for his rifle where it was holstered on his saddle. His fingers had just gripped it when a sound rent the air, cutting through the early evening air and piercing his heart.

A woman's terrified cry.

Charles loosed his rifle and started to run.

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

"Stay away from me!" Caroline shrieked as she backed away. Beside her George Galender's poor horse lifted its head and exhaled through its nose, snorting with fear. "I won't let you touch me! _I won't!"_

George Galender's upper lip curled with a sneer and his dark eyes lit with an unholy mirth. "Now how exactly, Mrs. Ingalls, do you think you're gonna manage _that?"_

It was a terrifying sight. Five minutes before the eldest Galender had been so drunk he couldn't stay awake. Now, here he was, sober as the death that looked her in the eye.

He took a step toward her. "Missy, I'm gonna teach you a lesson."

As he reached for her, Caroline ducked behind the horse. The animal stamped and moved, dancing back a few paces toward the barn as though seeking its safety. She meant to use it as a shield but the bully would have none of it. He slapped the animal's rump hard and sent it skittering out of the way.

"It don't matter what you do, Mrs. Ingalls, you _ain't_ gonna get away from me. You did that last time and I mean to see things done right now. That husband of yours owes me and, be damned to Hell, I mean to get what I deserve!" He took another step. "No one knows you're out here and ain't no one gonna come and rescue you. You may as well come here and take what I give out."

"I'd rather die!" she screamed.

He laughed. A dark, evil, _certain_ laugh.

"Now _that_ ain't an option."

Terrified, Caroline backed away from him – and felt her back strike the side of the barn.

There was nowhere to go.

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Grace Edwards stood at the edge of their property looking toward the northwest. Isaiah and Sheriff Caldwell had taken off before she could finish telling them what had happened. She had been right. Charles was in poor health. Isaiah told her they'd warned him. He didn't have to say anything more. They both knew Charles. If it took his life, he would protect his family and there would be no stopping him. She had leaned her head on her husband's shoulder briefly. She knew it was the same with him. She tried to put herself in Caroline's shoes. If someone had taken her, she would dream of Isaiah coming to save her, but at the same time she would dread it. The end would be the same – either Isaiah would be dead or the man who had taken her would be and her husband would be facing prison time or worse.

There would be no stopping him just as there had been no stopping Charles.

Walking over to the fence, Grace put her hand on it. The children were inside, not settled, but under Mary's care. They had talked and the older girl had realized that the best thing she could do for her family was to act as both mother and father until her parents' return.

Grace drew a sharp breath and tightened her shawl around her neck. And what if – God forbid! – they never returned? Could she and Isaiah feed three more mouths? Of course, it was a foolish question. There was no way under Heaven she would let those children go with anyone else. Closing her eyes, the blonde woman forced her mind away from the image of what might be happening now, turning it to her Lord and Savior.

Caroline and Charles' Lord and _protector._

When her first husband had died, she had been nearly inconsolable. A good friend had come to her and handed her a note, tucking it in her hand at the graveside and telling her it was a word from the Lord for her. She had kept it. It lay within the pages of her precious Bible even today. Late at night, when she had finally found herself alone, she had opened it and read the passage. It had given her hope.

 _When thou passest through the waters, I_ _will be_ _with thee; and through the rivers, they shall not overflow thee: when thou walkest through the fire, thou shalt not be burned; neither shall the flame kindle upon thee. For I_ _am_ _the LORD thy God, the Holy One of Israel, thy Saviour._

Grace clung to that hope now for her friends.

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Charles burst through the trees at the edge of the Galenders' former property. He stood for a moment, lightheaded, breathing hard, and then began to run again. He could hear voices, but from the angle he had entered the yard he couldn't see anything.

One of them was Caroline's.

Throwing caution to the wind, he shouted, "Caroline, hang on! I'm coming!"

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Her husband's voice brought joy and terror to her as George Galender's face lit with an unholy joy as he heard it and then swung about in the direction from which it had come. As she saw Charles round the end of the barn, Caroline flung herself at the villain, hoping to knock him down.

He backhanded her so hard she fell to the earth with her head spinning and was unable to rise.

Oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

When Charles saw Caroline fall, a rage filled him such as he had _never_ known – not even when he had come here and trod this path before. He crossed the remaining space between them and launched himself at the other man, taking him full on and driving him to the ground. George rolled with it – easily – and gained his feet in a second.

Charles was left panting in the dust.

"You're lookin' mighty poorly, Mister Ingalls," the bully sneered. "Somebody beat you up?"

He climbed slowly to his feet. A glance at Caroline told him nothing. She was laying to the side, unmoving, near a horse he could only assume belonged to the monster before him. Breathing hard, he replied, "It's nothing I can't handle."

"Sure _looks_ like it ain't nothin'," George goaded. "You look like a man with one foot in the grave." The man's eyes were cold as a panther's sizing up its next kill. He reached into his shirt and produced a gun and pointed it at him. "You're a dead man, Ingalls."

"And you're a coward!" he shouted back. "Assaulting a woman and hiding behind a gun! Meet me man to man, Galender! But then again, maybe you can't do that. Because you aren't any _kind_ of a man. You're an animal. An animal that deserves to be put down!"

"And who's gonna do that?" the man with the gun asked. "You? Ha! You can't stand on your feet."

Charles blew out air. His jaw was fixed tight. "Then you don't need that gun. Do you? Unless you're weaker than a man half-dead."

"I ain't _weak_ ," Galender growled. "Don't you ever say I'm _weak_! My pappy used to tell me that afore he beat me. Well, I proved to that old man that he was wrong. _He's dead!"_ Galender tossed the gun aside. " _And you are too!"_

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Caroline stirred. Her head was spinning so she couldn't think. Something had awakened her – some sound. It reminded her of two bucks fighting, grunting and groaning as they struck their antlers one against the other. She blinked away tears and confusion and raised her head slowly to see what it really was.

Charles! Dear God! Charles!

He looked like death, he was so pale and shaking. One cheek was split open and his face was bloody. His dark brown hair was soaked through and hanging in his eyes and he moved like a man in a nightmare; his actions slow, timed, winding down. She reached toward him and called, but he didn't hear or see her so intent was he on his opponent.

On George Galender who was standing before him, wielding a branch thick as his wrist.

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Isaiah hunched forward and pushed a bit more speed out of his mount. Burt Caldwell was flying beside him, both of them headed for the Galender's old place. They was maybe five minutes out. They'd passed the men from the town who were comin' fast as they could. He couldn't forget the guilt he'd felt when he saw little Half-pint's face shinin' out at him from behind Lars Hansen's form. He'd let her down. He'd let her _Pa_ down.

If anythin' happened to either Charles or Caroline, he didn't know how he'd ever look his ugly mug in the face again.

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

"Charles, no!"

The brown-haired man pivoted, momentarily distracted. Caroline was on her feet and headed toward him as if, with her meager strength, she would rip the branch George Galender threatened him with out of his hands. A deep and thankful pride flooded through him even as fear for her nearly unmanned him.

"Caroline! Go back!" he shouted. "Caroline –"

It was only a split second glance. George Galender was beside him. The branch was raised.

"See you in Hell!" the villain cried.

And he saw no more.

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Breath and words failed her. Caroline Ingalls watched her husband take the blow and drop to the ground where he stood. Not caring what happened to her, she flew to his side, brushing past the skittish horse that shied and pranced back and forth, coming up close to where Charles lay and then backing off, edgy and anxious. George Galender stepped aside and watched as she fell at Charles' side. She touched his face and then lay her head on his chest.

His heart was still beating.

A second later she felt harsh fingers grip her arm.

With a strength she didn't know she possessed, she broke free. Positioning herself in front of Charles supine form, she screamed, "Don't you touch him!"

Galender sneered. "It ain't him I want to touch."

Caroline climbed to her feet. She stood, her jaw clenched and her hands in fists. Her words and her look were icy cold. "Do whatever you want with me, but leave Charles alone."

The bully didn't say anything for some time. Then, he asked a question. His tone indicated that what he thought she was doing was impossible. "You'd do that for him?"

"I would give my _life for him!"_ she breathed. "It's called love. Something a bully like you could _never_ understand!"

"Well, it don't have to go that far." George Gallender dropped the branch. He glanced at Charles where he lay unconscious, and then caught her by the wrist and pulled her toward him roughly. Behind him, the horse snorted and bucked again, echoing her own fear.

"We'll just see what Mister Ingalls has got himself," he breathed close to her ear as he circled her throat with his hand.

Caroline never knew exactly what happened. She'd closed her eyes, knowing what the man intended, and so she didn't see. There was a gunshot, slightly distant, as though someone had fired a warning shot into the air. The horrible man jerked with surprise and his fingers pulled away from her. Opening her eyes she caught a glimpse of George Galender raising his hands and his battered and beaten horses' hooves striking out, and heard a high-pitched triumphant scream such as that kind an animal gave when triumphing over an enemy. A second later George Galender fell to the ground, his head a mass of blood and broken bone.

She did the same, only next to Charles, and laid her head on his chest.

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Isaiah Edwards was off his horse and running for his friends even as Burt Caldwell's warning shot rang through the woods surrounding the Gallender's old place. When they came into the yard he saw Charles layin' on the ground and Caroline standing over him. George Gallender was threatening her and then – then – like something come of God the old nag that was standing beside her struck out with its hooves and cracked the bully's head open like a hammer smashing stone. Caroline stood there, stunned for a moment, and then fell on Charles and started to sob.

He came up beside her and put his hand on her shoulder. She jumped as though frightened until she saw it was him. Her face was streaked with dirt and her white blouse was red with her husband's blood.

"Help him..." she pleaded.

"We will, Caroline. We will." He knelt beside her, frowning. Charles looked just about like he had that day he found him in the wagon. "Lars and the others ain't far behind us. Burt's gonna send one of them for the Doc."

She nodded, almost beyond words. Blinking back tears, she looked up at him. "Isaiah, is it...over?"

He placed a hand alongside her face as he nodded.

"It's over."

EPILOGUE

He hadn't lied. The hurting was over, but there was a long way to go to the healing. Leaving Caroline at Charles' side, Isaiah had risen and gone to meet the men from the town, knowin' that Half-pint was with them. He didn't want her to see her pa or her ma lookin' like they did now. After sending Nels flying back to fetch the doctor and several of the other men forward to take care of his friends, he went to find Lars Hansen who had traded his horse for a ride in the wagon and was seated in its bed holding a wide-eyed and terrified Laura.

The look she gave him as he approached was about the same as one of them there wild deer he caught in his sights.

Nels' light eyes asked him a question as he approached. He nodded and forced a smile. Under his breath he whispered a prayer that what he said was the truth.

"Half-pint, your pa and ma are gonna be okay."

Laura was on her feet instantly. "Oh, Mister Edwards! I want to see them! I _gotta_ see them!" Before he could stop her, she had her legs over the edge of the wagon and was dropping to the ground, ready to run.

He caught her and lifted her up. As she struggled, he put a hand to her face and made her look at him. "Laura," he said.

She stopped. Panic entered her eyes. He rarely called her anything but Half-pint and she knew when he did that it was serious.

"What aren't you tellin' me?" she asked.

Isaiah frowned. "First of all, your ma's fine. Your pa, well, he's hurt." He drew a breath, thinking of how to put it. "You remember what your pa looked like that night I brought him home in the wagon after the Galenders beat him?"

Her nod was stiff and full of fear.

He hesitated to say this was worse. "Well, it's like that. He's gonna need time and a lot of lovin' care, but he'll get better."

Laura's little jaw was clenched tight. "Is it bad?"

Weren't no use lyin'. He nodded. "It's bad."

Tears entered her eyes, but she put on a brave front. "Ma's gonna need help. Will you take me to her?"

He glanced back toward the house. He'd seen the men lifting and carrying Charles into the Galender's place a short time before. Now one of the men was covering up George's body with some kind of blanket or tarp.

What was left of that bad character wasn't something the child needed to see.

Isaiah placed Charles' second daughter on the ground and then knelt before her. Taking her by both arms, he said, "I need you to be real growed up, Half-pint. Can you do that for me?"

She was trembling so hard it was tough to nod, but the little moppet did it. "Yes, sir."

"We need to wait for the doctor afore goin' in, to let him do what he has to do. You and me," he wrinkled his nose and gave her a gentle smile, "we'd just get in the way, if you know what I mean." Even as the words came out of his mouth Isaiah heard a rig approaching. It was moving fast and there was a horse riding alongside it. "See, there's Doc Baker now."

The rig pulled to a halt beside the wagon and the town's physician stepped out of it. From the look on his face, Burt Caldwell had filled him in.

Hiram Baker inclined his head. "Isaiah." He reached out and placed a hand on Half-pint's head. "Laura, I hear you have been very brave."

"No, sir," she sniffed. "I...couldn't make it. I couldn't run...anymore." As she spoke, the tears began to flow. "If Pa...if Pa dies, it'll be _my_ fault!"

Isaiah shook his head. In a month of Sundays you couldn't guess what a child was thinkin'.

The doctor took Laura's hand and led her over to where Nels was standing. "Nels," he said, "will you tell Laura what you told me when you found me in town?"

Nels looked down at her. "I said we wouldn't have gotten here in time if it hadn't been for finding Laura on the road. We would have gone all the way out to the Edwards' house and gotten here too late to help."

Doc Baker glanced at him, and then turned back to Half-pint. "So you see, Laura, it's _because_ of you that these men are here and that one of them could come to get me so quickly." He squeezed her hand. "Now you just wait here while I take a look at your pa. Soon as I can, I'll call to have you come in."

Laura's little shoulders were shaking and tears streamed down her face. She nodded, but didn't really seem convinced. Isaiah had opened his mouth to say something – anything – he didn't know _what_ when Half-pint's eyes lit like candles on a Christmas tree. Before either of them could stop her she hopped down from the carriage seat and went running toward the cabin shouting, "Ma!"

Caroline, battered, bedraggled, exhausted but beautiful, was coming toward them. She fell to her knees and opened her arms and they watched as Laura fell into them.

Isaiah felt Doc Baker's hand on his shoulder.

"I couldn't prescribe any better medicine."

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Caroline looked at her daughter and held her hand as they approached the door. It was night and inside the Galender's small cabin it was dark, save for the single lamp Doc Baker had lit and left on the table. The physician had been some time with Charles, so much so that it had concerned her, but she had willed herself to leave him in both the physician and God's hands and to tend to her child. In a way it was healing for her. Charles was beyond her care at the moment. God willing he survived, she would have plenty to do for him. Now her attention needed to be on their child who was hurting almost as much as her father.

She'd tried to prepare her for what she was going to see. Charles was a wreck. His face was swollen on one side from the blow George Galender had given him. His lip was split and he had a bandage on side of his face covering another deep gash in the skin. He hadn't recovered consciousness yet, which concerned the doctor. There was no way, he said, to assess whether or not he had a concussion, though he considered it more a certainty than a possibility. Burt Caldwell, the sheriff from Sleepy Eye, told Hiram about what had happened in their city and the doctor had done the best he could to check for damage to Charles' kidneys. Again, he said he couldn't tell for certain, but he didn't think there had been a rupture, which was a miracle considering Charles had taken two beatings in as many days.

Caroline closed her eyes as she clutched her child's hand and whispered yet another thanks. God had been listening and had brought them through.

There was little sound in the cabin as they entered the front room other than Charles' uneven breathing. Doctor Baker had worked through the night before delivering a baby and had come to tend to her husband with no sleep. He was seated in a rough chair in the front room with his head tilted back. Isaiah had gone home to tell Grace and the children that they were safe and would be there as soon as they could. Burt Caldwell had gone with him, grateful for the offer of a meal and a bed before heading back to Sleepy Eye to deal with George Gallender's brothers. It did her heart good to hear that Bubba had played a part in saving them. With the right hand on him, the boy might turn out to be a decent man. With Sam going to jail for his part in what happened to Charles, Bubba would be on his own. Burt Caldwell had assured her he would find a suitable home, with a strong man and good Christian values, to place the boy in.

Perhaps out of all of this Bubba Galender was the single ray of hope.

Laura's expectant breathing was added to that of her father's as they crossed through the front room of the cabin. Charles was in the second room, where he lay on a low bed pushed up against the wall. She'd checked on him just before going out to get their daughter. It had been several hours and even though she had done everything she could to assuage her fear, she knew Laura was fearing the worst. It was hard for her too, seeing such a strong man laid low. Still, she knew Charles was their provider and protector and for all that she wanted to take him and shake him sometimes for the risks he took, she knew she would not have changed one thing.

As they stepped into the room, Caroline loosed her daughter's hand and pushed her toward the bed. "I'm going to go out and see to Mister Galender's horse," she said, a smile lifting lips too bent with care. "You sit with your pa for a while. Talk to him. Let him know you're here."

Caroline turned when she was almost out of the room and looked back in time to see Charles' little Half-pint of Cider reach out and take hold of her father's hand.

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Something called him, pulling him up and out of the dark pit he found himself in. It contained no light and seemed to have no bottom. For some time he had felt like he was falling, falling, unable to find a hand or foothold to stop his descent and it frightened him. He felt like he was drifting away and he knew he had so much to do, here, wherever _here_ was. Someone needed him. No, _several_ someones. People important to him. People who would be sad if he went away. A woman. Children.

His family.

Something within him rose up at the image of their tearful and frightened faces. Something he had almost let go. A will to fight. That determined spirit that had carried him through so many adversities from the loss of his land in Kansas to the death of his only son.

Frederick was there on the other side. He'd see him one day.

But not now.

Charles stirred and opened his eyes, searching for the thing that had called him back. He felt it before he saw it – a tiny hand, clasping his with the ferocity of one who feared that, if they let go, a precious thing would slip away.

As well he might have.

He looked and saw Laura seated on the bed beside him. She was holding his hand but had fallen forward onto his chest and was sound asleep. It took nearly all of the energy left to him to lift his other hand and place it on his child's sleeping head. And what little was left to speak her name.

"Hey, Half-pint..."

For a second she didn't stir. Then his child lifted her head and opened a pair of dream-struck eyes to look at him. It took her a second to realize that the fact he was speaking to her was real.

"Pa?"

It was hard to talk. His split lip was swollen to twice its normal size. He really couldn't remember what had happened other than the fact that George Galender had used a heavy branch to take him down. As memory flooded in, he grew agitated.

"Caroline?" he asked, looking around frantically. "Where's...you ma?"

"She's fine, Charles," a strong male voice said. He looked up to see Doc Baker standing behind his daughter. "Everyone's safe. Now you need to calm down and get some rest. Laura, why don't we switch places and I'll look at your pa and see how he's doing."

She didn't let go. She simply moved to the chair by the bed.

Hiram smiled at her as he took her place. "You have quite a girl there, Charles. She brought us word where you were so we got here in time."

"Everyone's...safe," he echoed, his voice fading as he grew weary.

"And well. You took the brunt of it." Charles felt the doctor's fingers lift his lids. "Look at me, Charles," he said, his voice commanding. "Ah, yes. Like I thought. You've got a bit of a concussion from that blow. We'll have to do our best to keep watch on your for a while." The doctor paused and then turned to his daughter. "Laura, will you go get your Ma, please?"

She was reluctant to surrender his hand, but did so in the end. As he watched his child leave the room, Charles eyes closed. When they opened again, the doctor had turned into a beautiful woman and the early morning sunlight was streaming in through the cabin window.

Lips brushed his forehead and the beautiful woman said, "Good morning, sleepy head."

The brown-haired man blinked. He felt a little less groggy than before, though his thoughts and his body it seemed were cocooned in some sort of soft, delicious haze that made thinking anything difficult.

"The doctor gave you something for the pain," the woman said. "Sorry to have to wake you, but Hiram wanted me to make sure every few hours that we could."

He tried his best to focus on her, but who she was remained just beyond his grasp. He closed his eyes and opened them again. She was still there, but the light was gone.

Her hand touched his face. "Charles, can you hear me?"

Charles. That was him. Charles Ingalls. And the beautiful woman was his wife.

"Caroline?" he rasped.

She caught his hand as he lifted it. "Oh, yes, Charles! It's me." She leaned over and planted a gentle kiss on his forehead. "Welcome back."

It hurt to frown, but he did it anyway, trying to remember. Then he saw it flash across his mind's eyes – Caroline, on the ground, unmoving. He looked at her. She was pale. Worry wrinkled the skin around her eyes and soft lips. But she was here, and whole.

"What happened?" he asked.

Caroline glanced at the door, as if expecting someone. With a sigh, she turned back. "I really shouldn't, Charles. The doctor wants you to rest."

"I'll...rest better if...I know."

She nodded. "What do you remember?"

He shifted, easing a pain in his back side. "Not much. Fighting...Galender. You...on the ground." Anger infused him, but he beat it down, knowing the need was past. "Something hit me." He blinked. "What happened...to George?"

Caroline shuddered. "He's dead."

"Dead? Did I..."

"No, Charles." She caught his hand and kissed his bruised knuckles. "No. It was God."

The frown deepened. "God?"

"That poor animal that he had mistreated struck out and killed him." His wife's face was sober. Certain. "George Galender got his just reward."

That was quite a statement coming from his charitable and grace-giving Christian wife. He reached out and touched her arm. "If...I didn't know better...Mrs. Ingalls...I'd say your ornery husband...was rubbing off on you."

"The twain shall be as one," she said with a little smile.

"Now what is all this talking I hear in here?" a stern voice asked.

Caroline turned to find Doctor Baker standing in the open doorway. His voice was severe but his blue eyes were smiling. She rose as he entered and took a seat on the chair by the bed.

"Now let me take a look at you," Hiram said as he sat down. "You've had us all up most of the night keeping watch over you, did you know that?" he asked as once again he checked his eyes. "Next time before you decide to go running off pell-mell by yourself remember there's others that have to patch you back together."

"Sorry, Doc," Charles mumbled.

"No, you're not," the doctor laughed.

Charles smiled. Then he said, "Ouch."

"Serves you right."

After the doctor had finished his examination, he rose and looked at Caroline. Then he nodded. "I think it's all right. But only for a short time and then Charles needs to rest."

He turned to his wife. She was smiling, though there was something about her smile that was cautious, as if she was both sure and unsure.

Rising she kissed him on the forehead. "I'll be back."

As Caroline left, Isaiah Edwards' stepped into the room. "How is he, Doc?" the mountain man asked.

"He'll live," the doctor said as he passed him and headed out of the room. "Through no fault of his own."

His friend stood there, looking down at him, his fingers eating at the edge of his hat. "Charles, I..." Isaiah cleared his throat. "I failed you and I don't know what to say. If I'd a been here George Galender wouldn't have gotten hold of Caroline –"

"And I'd be...dead." Charles focused on his friend, though it hurt. "Caroline's safe. Let...it go."

"Charles, I..."

He shook his head slightly. "Let it...go."

Isaiah dipped his head for a moment. When he looked up his eyes were moist. He nodded and then turned and walked out of the room.

Charles closed his eyes after he did and lay there, thinking. So much had happened since that day when the Reverend Alden had told him about the Galenders and their intentions. It was over now. George Galender was dead and his family was safe.

He could rest easy.

The touch of a hand on his brought him around again. Charles knew it. He caught the little fingers in his own and squeezed.

"Where...you been, Half-pint?" he asked without opening his eyes.

"We're all here, Pa," Laura answered. "Mary and Carrie too."

Charles drew a breath and forced his eyes open. Laura was there, and behind her, dear sweet Mary. Caroline was standing in the door holding Carrie.

Gathering his strength, he switched his hold on Laura to his other hand and reached out to Mary. She came and sat in the chair by his side. Caroline waited a moment and then bent and placed Carrie between them. She stared at him wide-eyed and then took her tiny hand and laid it alongside his battered face.

His youngest cocked her head and looked at him, and then turned and looked at her ma. "Pa looks funny," she pronounced seriously.

Charles laughed, winced, and then laughed again. Then he gathered his brood into his arms and hugged them in spite of the pain and the doctor's warning.

Three days later they all went home.


End file.
